In Graves Below

by Carol Van Natta

  “No, Santa Fe Drive, in Denver. Are you Spencer Emerson?”

  “Call me Spence.” The reply sounded automatic. “Where’s that pink bastard?” He struggled to lift a knee to get his foot under him, but he seemed not to have the strength.

  “Chasing a ghost, I think.” She tried to smile winsomely, knowing she probably looked like hell. “Could you cut the tape on my wrists? There’s a box cutter in your left pocket.”

  He absently put his hand in the pocket and pulled out the box cutter, but it slid from his fingers when his whole body twisted in sudden, harsh spasm. It looked painful, but seemed to bring more lucidity as he peered at the floor. “Those are dance magic symbols from my grimoire. I have to get out of here.”

  He tried to stand, but his legs buckled under him, and his knee landed on the box cutter. He swore as he picked it up and tossed it on to the blanket. “What’s today’s date?”

  “May fifth. Could I have that box cutter?” She pointed with her chin.

  Spence swore viciously. “The greedy bastard is burning through my store of life force like there’s no tomorrow.” He doggedly got to his hands and knees. “Don’t believe anything he says. Serves me right for not paying attention to which body I was raising. I just wanted a few stock tips. How was I supposed to know the moron had been dabbling in black magic and got himself possessed?”

  He pivoted southward on his knees and froze. His gaze locked onto the injured Yellow Snow, who was slowly creeping toward them. Spence snarled a curse that caused the demon to curl into a small ball and whimper. The psychic stench of death magic—necromancy—made Riya shiver. Now it made sense that Spence survived possession by a soul-eater demon. Necromancers were immune to soul stealing.

  Crackling and hissing erupted from the darkness in the southeast end of the building. It galvanized Spence, who turned in the opposite direction and started crawling slowly across the symbols, smearing globs of paint as he went. Riya desperately rolled over on her stomach and tried to aim her hands where the box cutter had landed. She forced her circulation-deprived fingers to feel around behind her, and tried not to imagine accidentally groping the disgusting red slime expelled from Spence’s stomach. She felt cool metal and fought against the blanket to wrap her fingers around the handle.

  An inhuman scream reverberated in the warehouse. She rolled over again so she could see what was going on and scrambled to hide her prize under a blanket fold. A tingle of awareness trickled through her, meaning Idrián was near. She’d give anything to be in his arms right then.

  Derorril limped into view, a fading burn mark on its leg, dragging something after it. The demon slid its burden onto the symbols, then leapt to stand in front of crawling Spence. “Going somewhere?”

  Riya’s attention was on the misty figure the demon had dragged in. Her heart sank when it solidified enough for her to recognize the face of Black Fox. She felt guilty that she was relieved it wasn’t Idrián, who she knew was to the west of her, beyond the pool of light. The middle of Black Fox’s chest was impaled with a giant stinger, with a slimy ectoplasmic thread that led to Derorril’s tail.

  Black Fox was clearly in agony as he tried to pull the stinger from his chest, but it wouldn’t budge. The effort appeared to exhaust him. He cast Riya an apologetic look.

  She looked at Derorril just in time to see it shoving itself back into Spencer Emerson’s shuddering, trembling body. It rose to its feet and bounced a couple of times, as if to seat itself in Emerson’s form.

  Derorril looked calculatingly at the spirit of Black Fox, then toward the darkness. “I feel your connection, mage. Come out where we can see you, or I’ll have my enalpi eat the remains of your ancestor.”

  Yellow Snow scrambled to its feet. “Hungry!”

  While Emerson’s attention was on the warehouse, Riya slid her uncooperative fingers under the blanket and pushed the slider on the box cutter to expose the blade. She clumsily turned it and started sawing at the tape, hoping she had the sharp edge pointed the right direction.

  “I’m losing my patience, mage.” Emerson crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

  Yellow Snow drooled. The hole in its wing looked significantly smaller and less singed than before. It started slyly edging toward Black Fox’s prone form. Black Fox floated closer to Emerson.

  She sawed as hard as she could and felt the tape start to part. It spurred her to work faster, even though her wrist tendons were straining, and the returning circulation was torturous. She gritted her teeth to keep herself from crying out in pain.

  From out of the darkness, Idrián finally spoke. “I’m coming.”

  The tape on her wrists gave way. She winced as she slowly moved her arms forward to relieve the strain on her shoulders.

  Idrián limped slowly into view, his brace creaking, leaning heavily on his cane. He stopped once he was fully in view, with the scarred side of his face lit by the harsh work light. His pant leg was partially hitched up as if by accident, exposing his prosthesis. She guessed he was giving the demon reasons to underestimate him.

  “You’re tall enough, but you’re damaged beyond repair.” Emerson looked him up and down. “Why don’t you stupid humans cull your injured? It’s not like there aren’t billions of you.”

  Idrián shrugged. “Tall enough for what?” He glanced briefly at Black Fox, who was still transfixed by the monstrous ghost stinger.

  “To be my next ride, of course.” Emerson raised his hand and looked at the back of it. “I’m tired of cramming myself into this one. I can’t eat it, and it keeps fighting me. Besides, it’s running dry. I’m not going to wait until it’s out of life force and get stuck underground again. Another stupid human practice.” He tilted his head back toward Riya. “She’s young and healthy, but her body is even smaller than this one.”

  Even the implied threat to her had Idrián’s expression hardening, and she felt their connection energize, the way it had in dreamwalk when he’d called up earth magic to share with her. He was about to throw himself into the fray to protect her, and she couldn’t let him sacrifice himself. She sat up and cleared her throat loudly. “What do you need another ride for? I thought you wanted to go home.”

  Emerson turned to her. “I do.” His eyes narrowed when he saw her pulling the duct tape off her wrists. “Will you dance? Open the gate for me and Yellow Snow?” Beyond him, she saw Idrián subtly shake his head.

  Riya made her decision and hoped it was the right one. “Yes, if you let the mage and his grandfather’s ghost go.”

  “What are they to you?” Emerson peered at her suspiciously.

  “Not much, really. I just met them yesterday.” Riya shrugged. “They meant well.” She’d make it up to Idrián later for making him sound unimportant and ineffectual. If there was a later.

  Emerson nodded solemnly and held up his hand like a scout. “Very well, I promise.”

  She laughed without mirth. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

  It took thirty minutes of arguing to convince Derorril/Emerson to agree to let Idrián leave the warehouse. She used every ounce of acting ability she had to convince the demon she was smart enough to negotiate a good deal, and naïve enough to believe that when she opened the gate, he and Yellow Snow would go home quietly.

  Fortunately, the demon’s considerable power made it arrogant, and it sucked at understanding humans, even though it was occupying one. She let it assume that Spence-the-necromancer had cut her loose, and that Idrián’s magic had breached the warehouse boundary. The more the demon underestimated her, the way it had Idrián, the better.

  “The mage must swear a blood oath not to interfere,” said Emerson, “or the grandfather ghost will be Yellow Snow’s next dinner.”

  Riya wasn’t sure the smaller demon could actually eat spirits, but she couldn’t take the chance with Black Fox’s safety. She heaved a theatrical sigh. “If the vision of him leaving makes you happy, I’m sure he can do it.” Dammit, why couldn’t she have telepathic
powers, or know a spell to tell Idrián what she was planning? He wouldn’t like her plan, but maybe he’d stop looking so angry and despairing. She couldn’t afford to look at him very often, because she knew her feelings for him would show on her face, and that would give Emerson an advantage.

  Thankfully, Idrián seemed to have caught on. He pulled a multi-tool from his pocket, opened a thin blade, and pricked his finger. “I swear by the graves of my ancestors not to interfere in your quest to go home. You can watch me drive away in my truck.” He turned the bleeding finger to face Emerson, then flicked the blood droplet away. “I want your blood oath to free Riya and my grandfather’s spirit once the gate is open.”

  Emerson pulled the box cutter out of his pocket, which he’d retrieved earlier, and sliced the meaty part of his palm. Blood welled, and he flicked it onto the concrete. “I swear by my blood that the woman and your grandfather will be free once the gate is open.” The cut was already healing by the time he slipped the box cutter back into his pocket.

  Idrián gave his grandfather one last look, then turned and limped away past the haphazard ring of standing work lights and into the darkness.

  Riya cleared her throat. “So what’s this dance you need me to do?”

  Emerson turned to her with a deep frown. “I hope you’re a better dancer than St. Peters. He kept trying to take shortcuts.”

  Riya twitched a sardonic eyebrow. “Story of his life, I’ll bet.”

  Emerson’s body shook with Derorril’s laughter.

  Chapter 13

  The hardest thing Idrián had ever done was walk away from the two people who meant the world to him. His grandfather’s spirit was suffering, and Riya was playing a deadly game. He’d been ready to attack when the demon in Emerson’s skin threatened her, but he had to trust that she had a plan. A better plan than his, which mostly consisted of plowing in and smashing things. That worked when driving Army tanks in Afghanistan, but not against powerful demons.

  The second he heard Riya’s question about the dance and the demon’s laughter, he picked up speed and half ran to the south door, muffling his footsteps and creaking brace as he went. He needed a little time to craft the illusion Riya had asked for, of him driving away in his truck. This wasn’t a little illusion like a blood drop on his finger for a meaninglessly vague oath. It was bigger than any he’d ever done in the real world before, so he hoped the dark, moonless night would hide any flaws. It was only possible now because of his growing connection to Riya, his dreamwalk partner. He wished he’d thought to tell her they were already making each other stronger, able to use more of their dreamwalk skills in the real world.

  He opened the warehouse door and fused the hinges so the door would stay open. He cloaked himself in darkness beside a pallet of rotting cardboard, then gathered as much earth magic as he dared. He quickly constructed a frame, blew dust onto it, and shaped it into his image, then sent it out the door. The demon’s wards flared. He hastily built his truck illusion in front of the rusty hulk of a van. Just in time, too, because Emerson came to the door to watch the illusion of Idrián getting into the illusion truck and driving away. Idrián made sure the demon got a good look at the illusion’s unhappy face.

  Emerson glanced up to the moonless night, then tried to shut the door, but Idrián’s handiwork held fast. Emerson kicked the door in frustration, then spoke a word of power to strengthen the wards and headed back toward the center of the warehouse. Even as Idrián watched, Riya’s subtle portal magic began undermining the wards, warping them upward by tiny increments. After only a few moments, something mouse-sized could cross the threshold. Not that there were any of those left. He’d found tiny carcasses earlier that he suspected were victims of the smaller winged demon.

  Idrián cloaked himself in his best concealment spell and slowly crept along the west wall, past a rusty, boarded-up train-loading door. Any faster, and the movement of magic might be noticeable. Several minutes later, he was close enough to see Riya and the two demons, and the hazy outline of his grandfather’s ghost.

  “…more complex than the first four. Show me that sequence again,” said Riya. Her dusty turquoise hair was half falling out of its bun, her T-shirt was damp with sweat, and she was barefoot. Her shoes and socks were piled to one side.

  Emerson gestured, and a conjured sexless figure executed a series of steps and body movements.

  Riya danced. The fifth ring of symbols lit up, joining the first three, with a few blanks where symbols were damaged or obscured. Emerson used magic to repair the darkened symbols and they lit up, too. Only one more ring to go.

  Emerson nodded, then gestured again. “Next.” The sexless figure danced. To Idrián, the sequence looked both long and difficult.

  The collected but unfocused power coming from the rings beat against Idrián’s senses. It felt almost like dreamwalk… Idrián could have kicked himself. It was dreamwalk. Soul-eater demons couldn’t manifest in the human world directly; they needed black magic or the dreamwalk for passage and translation to physical form.

  When entirely human and already weakened St. Peters had danced the previous evening, the gate, which Idrián and Riya had seen as heat shimmer in dreamwalk, had only stayed open long enough to allow one small demon through.

  When resilient, talented, portal-mage Riya’s dance lit the final ring, the twenty-foot-wide gate would slice through dreamwalk like butter.

  “Dance,” ordered Emerson.

  “Show me again.” She wiped the sweat off her forehead and used the hem of her filthy T-shirt to dry it.

  “You’re being slow and stupid on purpose.” Emerson pointed at her feet. “Dance!”

  Riya’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, so it’s okay to improvise?” She did a quick series of small movements. Seven of the previously lit symbols went dark.

  “Stop!” Emerson stomped across the pattern and stared at the dark symbols. “How did you do that?”

  Riya shrugged. “No clue. It’s your spell.” She pulled the hair band off her head and slicked her hair back. “Unless you bought it off the internet, in which case, I hope you went to a reputable dealer. That dark net stuff is downright dangerous.” She replaced her hair band. “So, do you want to show me again, or should I just make more stuff up?”

  Emerson glared as he stopped at each symbol to use his magic to light them again. After the fifth symbol, his shoulders drooped, as if running out of energy. He repaired the last two symbols, then gestured, and the sexless figure danced.

  Riya made him show her three more times. Emerson kicked the smaller demon off the outer ring of symbols and stood outside the ring, staring avidly at Riya. “Dance!”

  “Fulfill your oath. Free the ghost.” She pointed to Black Fox, who was barely moving and looked pale and blurry.

  Emerson shook his head. “Not until you complete the dance and open the gate.”

  “Then move him to the center with me, where he’ll be safe.” She crossed her arms, making it clear she wouldn’t budge.

  The unfulfilled magic potential in the room made the hair on the back of Idrián’s neck stand on end. He fought the urge to put his hands over his ears, because it wouldn’t help.

  Emerson stomped his foot in annoyance, but gestured toward Black Fox’s form. The ghostly figure floated toward Riya, but stopped when the ectoplasmic thread between Emerson and the stinger impaling Black Fox drew taut. He was still over the first ring of symbols.

  “He’s safe now,” announced Emerson. “Dance!”

  Riya started the sequence. This time, with each movement she completed, a symbol in the outer row lit up, and the fifth, then fourth, then third rings grew brighter and shifted from cool white to a deep reddish-pink tinge.

  Wind emanated from the floor, blowing up dust and debris. A high-pitched keening bypassed Idrián’s ears and drilled straight into his skull, like a slow-motion percussion wave from a roadside bomb. He gritted his teeth and shook off the traumatic memory.

  Riya froze in mid movement, her
left leg bent high in the air behind her, her torso leaning forward, her arms outstretched, her face to the floor. “Free the ghost.”

  Emerson stomped in a mad frenzy. “Don’t stop now, stupid human. You’ll kill us all!”

  The power charge in the room pulsed, like a lightning bolt gathering to strike.

  Riya held her pose. “Free the ghost.” Her fingers shook with tension.

  With an inarticulate snarl, Emerson gestured and yanked on the ectoplasmic thread. The stinger wrenched loose from Black Fox’s chest and retracted under Emerson’s suit coat and vanished. The cloudy wisps that made up Black Fox oozed past the rings into the center.

  Riya continued the dance. The symbols lit and the rings brightened. It felt like dreamwalk was bleeding into the real world, calling him, inviting him to join with it. He anchored himself to the real world with more earth magic.

  In a fast flurry of movement, Riya completed the sequence, then dropped to one knee. The rings turned deep red as they connected to one another and became solid walls that sank downward. Riya and Black Fox huddled in the dangerous eye of spinning, howling gale-force winds that rattled the entire warehouse, but didn’t affect Emerson or the smaller demon.

  Emerson exultantly looked down into the gateway in front of him, where roiling red and black clouds were rising.

  Because Idrián was watching Riya, he saw that under the cover of slipping on her shoes, she’d started dancing again, with small movements of her head, torso, shoulders, and hands. The color of the walls started shifting to pink and gray, and the winds slowed a little.

  Blankets of cotton-candy-pink fog overflowed the edges of the gateway, where they began forming into dozens of small knots of clouds, about the size of geese, that coalesced into stomach-churningly ugly, pale pink demons with multiple mouths and eyes, clawed limbs, and distorted horns. Though they were pink, they looked nothing like Emerson’s big demon or Yellow Snow, but appeared to be a species of their own. Their bodies twitched and shivered.

  Emerson glanced behind him at the little demons, then did a double-take. “No, no, no, no, no!” He kicked several of them back into the gateway, but the winds blew them back up into the air, where their round bodies tumbled like balls in a lotto machine. He shouted something in a demon tongue, but it didn’t seem to stop more pale-pink fog from pouring out. Growling, he spoke a harsh word of power so weighty that it drove him to one knee. It washed over the warehouse like the wave of an earthquake, and Idrián fought to stay still behind his concealment spell.