by Tess Oliver
"How did they get rid of them?" Maximus asked.
Nessa shook her head once. "I'm not sure how those mishaps ended."
Flint returned and placed an ancient-looking leather bound book in front of Nessa. She pulled a pair of reading glasses from her apron and flipped through several sections. You could almost smell the dust from previous centuries as she turned the pages over. Her gnarled fingers trailed down several pages as she skimmed the words. From my angle, I could see that most of the passages had illustrations and each was written by hand.
Nessa pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. "Here is the spell and someone has written in the margins 'spell caster beware'. This means that the results are not always what you expect."
"Seems like Vapour is getting exactly what he expected," Stryker noted. "What does it say about reversing the spell?"
Nessa's finger moved back and forth as she read. "It says the spell can last anywhere from two days to two years." She laughed, and it was a good, chalky laugh. The kind you'd expect from a woman who had seen and done it all. "I guess that's a rather broad range of time."
"Rather," Wilder repeated. "Does it say anything about reanimated souls? They could be a whole other problem."
Nessa closed the book and rested her trembling hands on top of it. "Well, I'm afraid I haven't been much help, but I can add in some of my own theories based solely on experience and the nuggets of brain I still have left up in this old noggin of mine. It seems to me, souls are a vulnerable entity in themselves. Obviously the spell has made them corporeal again, something a normal soul lacks. But I would venture to guess that those newly restored physical bodies are not as solid and strong as they were when the creature was a live human being."
"That's good to know," Maximus said. "Maybe we can just pound them into oblivion. Might actually be fun. Hell, who am I kidding? It would be amazing."
Nessa lifted her finger to make a point. "You need to let me finish, Max. I would also venture to guess that they are far less mortal because they have, in essence, already died. And you can't lose something you've already lost."
None of this was sounding good. "It seems like that would also make them fearless."
"I'm afraid Rikki is right," Nessa said. "They know they have the upper edge because they have already died."
"One thing I've noticed after ferrying souls across the river for these past few months is that souls hate to be cornered. They are like frantic cats with their hair straight up on end when they get trapped. I've had Steemer step on board. His massive size and weight tilts my boat." I nodded toward Maximus. "Even more than the human anchor here. I make Steemer sit in the center of the deck so that the weight is even. But when he sits there, he ends up walling off all the souls sitting along the starboard side. They always enter the ferry on edge, but when they feel like they're trapped between Steemer's massive bulk and the ferry railing, they go, quite simply, berserk. They start clawing each other. They even try to climb over the railing to return to that horrid river. I don't know why I brought it up. Probably doesn't help much in this situation."
I sat back with my lips sealed shut again, almost wishing I hadn't bothered to mention it.
Maximus thumped his fist on the table. "I think you're on to something, Rikki." He looked at Flint. "Remember when we cornered one of Vapour's creatures in Wynter? He knew he couldn't get past us. We had him trapped."
Flint nodded. "So he just turned into the flames. He wasn't afraid to die because he was already dead. Our lovely little ferryman just might have given us a weapon to work with. It's a start anyhow."
Maximus cleared his throat loudly. "One correction. She's my lovely little ferryman."
Nessa winked at me. "Looks like someone has finally melted the iron heart."
Thirty
Maximus
I'd found that no matter what argument or pleading or attempt at seduction I tried, I couldn't keep Rikki from going to her job on the river. Walt was taking longer than expected to recover, and Rikki was determined to keep the family business running.
On our trip back from Oldfell Island, we'd come to the conclusion that we needed to tell Feenix what was happening. It was always hard to know how our asshole boss would react, but we hoped he might have some insight on how to get rid of the slimy fuckers who'd already made it out into the mortal world. At the same time, we made a solemn promise to Rikki to not give away her secret unless absolutely necessary. We had enough evidence that we decided it would be easy enough to avoid mentioning Walt's kidnapping.
I rode my motorcycle up to the Seven Sins. Wilder, Stryker and Flint were already inside. We'd decided to fortify ourselves with some beer and then head into Wynter early so we could talk to Feenix before our shift. With any luck, we'd run into Rafferty and his pack and let them know what the hell was going on too.
The Sins was still a ghost town, and the disappointment showed in Jemma's face. The Wynter Fare had not returned since Kay's murder. It seemed the Masters of Mayhem had scared off some of the local clubs too.
I sat at the table with the others. Jemma walked over with a glass. "Have you told him?"
"Shit." I glanced around at their faces. "Now what?"
"They found two more women up at Rockford Beach." Jemma sat next to me. "That's only fifty miles up the coast, but from the details in the paper, there are distinct similarities to the way that Kay died. The paper doesn't give any specifics but it makes a point of calling them gruesome murders. With a guy nicknamed Cannibal leading the group, I'm sure we can all fill in the blanks."
"Maybe we should blow off our shift and go after those assholes right now." I filled my glass. "I'm ready to bust some serial killers' heads open."
"They haven't been around since you guys told them to leave my parking lot." Jemma filled Wilder's empty glass for herself and took a big gulp. "I asked some of the local MC members, and no one has seen them for a few days. It seems they've moved on to other towns."
Stryker slapped some money down on the table. "Well, stay close to home, Jemma, just in case. We're going to head into Wynter early and meet with the boss about all this. You guys ready to ride?"
I gulped back the rest of the beer as Jemma slipped out from my side of the table. We headed out the door to our bikes. It was just past eleven o'clock, but the parking lot and the road were deserted.
"Man, it's like a plague has gone through Cliffmoor and everyone is taking shelter behind closed doors." Wilder climbed on his motorcycle.
"A plague doesn't sound too far off." Flint fired up his bike. Stryker and I followed suit, and the four of us rolled out onto the quiet road.
We were all keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of trouble, but it was so still in the forest, even the night animals seemed to have taken shelter. I was anxious to get back into the underworld and check on Rikki.
We motored through the trees along our usual path and picked up speed as each of us passed through the plasma. Slash's guitar played in my ears as my motorcycle grew into my seventeen hand horse. Barq reared up and screeched loudly as he took off at a full gallop. Stryker and Flint were already ahead of me, and Wilder was not far behind on Chino. We headed straight to the river.
Catch nearly fell all over himself with confusion and worry. "Why are you guys here so early? You know I've got Zander's horse, Goliath, in the paddock, and he's in an ornery mood. Seems a wraith bit him just over the tail. I don't want to put any horses in with him. See, that's why Tracker's horse is tied up by the trough." He kept talking fast and rubbing his long nose in worry, but we all climbed off and handed him our reins anyhow.
"I'm sure you can figure something out," Stryker told him. "We've got a meeting with Feenix."
Catch didn't have time to argue. We left him standing in the center of four pawing, amped up stallions and walked toward Feenix's lair. I had only a moment to glance over at the river where Rikki was busy ushering her newest cargo onto the deck. She was too occupied to notice us. I was just relieved to see she was
all right.
A clammy, misty rain spit down on us as we lumbered along the cobbled road to the tall doors leading into the lair. Occasionally Paygon would have a ghoul or two standing sentry in front of the door. While the ghoul army was mostly under Vapour's control, Paygon was given the power to summon them if needed. But since Paygon had been banished to Cashel's work fields, it seemed Feenix had no one left to stand guard at the lair. None of us had been in to see Feenix since the day when Stryker was nearly executed. After Feenix lost his promised bride to Stryker, he had sent us all off with an angry wave and a warning not to bother him unless it was an emergency. A pack of reanimated serial killers seemed to fall under the category of emergency.
Nymphs had keen senses, especially when it came to Boys of Wynter. The narrow candle lit passages inside the lair were instantly filled with twittering, excited nymphs. "Oh my, I love them big" giggled a nymph with a pert nose and round eyes as she tried to measure the circumference of my arm with her small hands.
She dangled on me like an arm band as I continued my path down the hallway. By the time we reached the room where Feenix met with visitors, each of us had picked up one or two pieces of nymph jewelry. It was hard not to laugh at Flint who had one particularly agile nymph wrapped around him like a koala on a tree.
Their laughter and flirtatious sing song voices floated around the dank air in the room.
Flint was working hard to disentangle himself from the nymph who was now showering him with kisses. "Jeez, how the hell do you make them stop?"
"Raina, release him now." Feenix's angry, sharp tone caused all the nymphs to scatter.
"Guess that's how," Flint answered his own question.
Feenix's black eyes looked glazed as if he'd been busy not just with the nymphs but with the opiates he liked to smoke and snort in his free time. He looked more withered and even a little off balance. Hell, maybe it was time for him to give up his reign. Immortal obviously didn't necessarily mean invincible. A life of nonstop pleasures seemed to be catching up with him.
With some effort, the ruler of the underworld climbed up on the dais that held his custom designed throne. The four of us shot each other confused looks about how slowly and unsteadily he moved.
His long, bony hands rested on the heads of the carved gargoyles grinning at the end of the chair arms. "Well, if it isn't four of my least favorite people. Why are you here and not in Wynter doing the jobs you get paid for? Maybe a pay cut is in order."
Stryker stepped forward to speak, but Feenix raised up his hand. His nostrils flared wide as he scowled down at Stryker. "I would say you are the least favorite of my four least favorite people, wife stealer." Feenix pointed to me. "Let Maximus speak."
I took an extra step forward, wanting to make sure my shadow cast over him. Feenix ruled us, but he was easy to intimidate. And I was especially good at it. "First of all, our shift hasn't started, so we are here on our own time."
"Unusual," Feenix sneered. His speech was as slow as his movements, and his dark eyes were unfocused. Paygon was right. His brother was so busy getting high and getting fucked, he'd lost control of his realm.
"Yes, it's unusual. That's because something unusual is happening in the mortal world. Through no fault of our own," I added in, deciding I wasn't in the mood to have my head chopped off. "Beings have escaped from the underworld. Vapour has been reanimating some of the worst of his lot to murder and cause upheaval in the mortal world."
Feenix’s rubbery lips vibrated with a terse laugh. "Not possible. Where have you seen these beings?"
"They are riding around the coastal towns on motorcycles. There has already been a string of unsolved murders."
Feenix was silent for a moment, but we all knew it was the quiet before the storm. His fists came down so hard on his throne one of the gargoyle faces cracked. "How the fuck did they get out? You aren't doing your job. I should have each of you beheaded right now." He pounded his chair again. "Get me my brother."
The few nymphs who had braved his angry outburst and remained in the room looked at each other in surprise. "But, Master Feenix," one finally spoke up. "You sent Master Paygon away to Cashel's realm. He hasn't been here for weeks."
His head swayed back and his black eyes were unfocused. He was so high, he could barely sit upright. I was done with him.
I stepped closer. Feenix scooted discretely back on his throne. "This is not our fault. If you'd stop snorting shit up your nose and sticking that prickly dick of your in every pussy within reach, you'd notice that you're losing control of things. Paygon even tried to warn you that Vapour was up to something, but you didn't listen. And the fact that I'm actually saying something in support of that asshole should be alarming enough to you. Now what the hell do we do? How do we take care of reanimated souls?"
My angry lecture had gotten him so flustered, spittle ran down the side of his mouth. But my blunt words seemed to help sober him up.
Flint stepped up next to me. "We think Vapour's creatures are getting out through the ferryman’s portal. The one you set up for Trex," Flint added quickly.
Feenix lifted his chin and yanked self-importantly down on his tunic. "See, then you are idiots because when I set that portal up, I made it so only Trex could open it. It can sense his touch."
Flint's gray eyes flashed sideways at me, silently letting me handle the rest. I was still determined to keep my promise to Rikki. I was sure Feenix was in no mood for long explanations about borrowing cells from Trex's descendants to create the monsters who then could open the portal.
"Trex actually witnessed one of Vapour's creatures coming through the portal. And Flint and I cornered one in Wynter. It must have gotten lost and tried to slip through there. When it realized it had no way out, it turned around and walked into the flames of a geyser. But we saw it. Both of us. And we recognize some of the ones who have made it through as some of Vapour's more infamous tenants. The man they called Cannibal back in the nineteenth century for starters."
The conversation was sobering Feenix up fast. The redness of rage crept up from below the collar of his tunic, adding an angry cast to his otherwise sallow skin. "If this is all true, and I'm not convinced yet, then the Boys of Wynter must destroy them before the tiresome, dimwitted humans discover they are not from the mortal world."
"No kidding." I was aggravated enough to move closer to him just to set him more on edge. It was kind of fun scaring the shit out of him in his drugged state. It showed even more that he was just a spineless creep. I was certain that if he wasn't immortal, someone would have wrung his skinny neck long ago. "We were hoping you might tell us how to get rid of an animated soul."
Feenix sat back as far as he could on his outlandish throne. He whistled for two nymphs to sit as his feet, apparently as shields. It was hard not to shake my head in disgust at his cowardice. He had all the power of the underworld behind him, able to sentence anyone he deemed fit to death, yet he was a fucking chicken shit.
"Why don't you ask that old crone, Nessa?" Feenix sneered. "Vapour must have engaged a witch in his plan. He has no power to cast spells like that."
"Nessa only knows about reanimated dead people, not evil, hundred-year-old souls," Wilder said as he stepped forward.
The nymphs began stroking Feenix's legs, and he shooed them away. "You will have to fight them physically. They won't succumb to bullets or knives. Fire might work. Beating them to a pulp might be your only real weapon. And since you Boys are so good at that—"
"That's all the input you have?" Flint could not keep the derision from his tone. We'd all lost a great deal of respect for Feenix in the past years, and it was only getting worse.
Feenix's nostrils flared at the comment, and it seemed he suddenly remembered he was in charge. His long fingers gripped the heads of the gargoyles as he sat forward with glowing eyes. "No, here's my input. Take care of this problem or I will see each one of you kneel down at the chopping block. Then I will hang your fucking heads from the ceiling like
ornaments."
We'd all heard the same threat often enough that it had no effect on any of us. I crossed my arms to show him nothing he said would shake our confidence. "When we find where these creatures are hanging out, we might need help. In fact, the others are probably just getting off their shift, so we're going to let them know what's happening. You might want to call your brother back, so he can help out in Wynter while we are out chasing these assholes."
"And you might want to talk to Vapour," Stryker said. "Seems like he's vying for your position, and with the way you're handling yourself, that might be a fucking step up."
"How is that spoiled little angel cast off anyhow? Bet you're fucking her morning and night!" Feenix yelled as we walked out of his lair.
Stryker slammed the door extra hard. "If that guy weren't immortal, I would have wrung his fucking neck by now."
I smiled to myself. "Yep."
If there was one thing that could rile up Stryker, it was someone talking badly about Willow. Waves of rage were still rolling off of him as we trudged back to the horses. He kicked a good-sized rock out of his way. It went sailing along the cobblestone road like a soccer ball. "Even if it ended up with me under the executioner's ax, it would be worth it just to see him turn blue in my hands."
Our timing was perfect. Tracker and Zander were just picking up their horses. Tracker, who was nearly my equal in size, had shaved his dark hair off and had added some more ink since the last time I saw him. Tracker was one of those all balls out, hair on fire kind of guys, and even though we rarely spent time together, we got along well.
Zander was a good head smaller than Tracker, but he was wiry and moved like fucking lightning. We always liked to joke that shifting to wolf form only slowed him down and made him less agile.
Zander was the first to see us walk up. "Stryker, Max, guys, we saw your horses. What the hell are you doing here so early?"