The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3)

by Horn, J. D.

  “No,” Beige responded. “We are sorry.” He shook his head and sighed. “Ayako Izanagi, I bind you. May the power reject you. May it not claim you as its own.”

  Fridtjof stepped forward. “Ayako Izanagi, I bind you. May the power reject you. May it not claim you as its own.” Ayako’s avatar blinked in and out like a flashing Christmas tree bulb. When the avatar had finally resolved itself, the stocky Russian woman whose name failed me began to add her own addition to the binding.

  “Stop,” I called out. “Stop it. You are hurting her.”

  Both Beige and Fridtjof looked up at me with shock written on their faces. “But she tried to harm you,” Fridtjof said.

  I knew he hadn’t spoken in English, that his words had been Swedish, but still I understood their meaning. I hoped the reverse would hold true. “If you bind her, it will wipe her mind clean. She will live the rest of her life like a vegetable.”

  “Of course. That is the point,” Fridtjof replied.

  “Binding her is worse than killing her outright.”

  “Killing her could endanger the line,” Beige said. “I don’t think you fully understand how we anchors had to scramble when your Ginny was murdered.”

  I turned to my family. “Do something. We can’t just stand here and watch this happen.”

  Ellen looked at me. “I love you so much. I love your dear, kind heart. But this woman”—she motioned toward Ayako with a careless gesture—“she conspired against you. I’m afraid I don’t have your depth of compassion.”

  I turned from her to Oliver. He lowered his head and looked away from me. I reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking at me, “but I agree with Ellen.”

  My eyes locked with Iris’s. That she didn’t want to cause any further trouble with the anchors was written all over her face. She began to turn away, but then stopped herself. She drew a deep breath, and her face relaxed. “We no longer live in the Dark Ages. I’m sure we can find some rational alternative,” she said, looking away from me toward Beige. Her face lit up with inspiration. “Since Ayako’s such good friends with Gudrun, send her to live with her.”

  “I am touched.” Beige looked at me and put his hand over his heart. “Really touched that you are pleading on your attacker’s behalf, but the punishment for her actions was long ago prescribed.”

  “Really? Gudrun was responsible for the death of how many millions of innocents, and still she got off pretty much scot-free.”

  “Gudrun cannot be bound,” Fridtjof spoke up. “Nor can she be killed. If either of those options were possible, it would have been chosen. The best we could achieve in her case was containment.”

  “Have you not wondered how Gudrun could have existed unchanged for decades of our time in a place where time moves so much more quickly?” Beige asked. “She doesn’t age. As far as we can tell, she is immortal. Worse than that, she appears to be indestructible.”

  “Then how could you have possibly sent my sister to study under her?”

  “Gudrun expressed remorse for her past.” Beige’s gaze fell down and to the left, before returning back to me. “You are not the only one susceptible to the allure of clemency, and we had hoped Maisie might learn from Gudrun’s mistakes. Just as we are still hoping that you will learn. That you will stop working at cross purposes to your fellows.”

  “I won’t help you,” I said. I shook my head. “I won’t consent. I won’t participate in this binding.” I watched Ayako’s face as I said this. Rather than gratitude, I saw anger building.

  “You have no respect for authority. No respect for tradition. You are a danger to the line,” she hissed, her brow lowering as she looked at me through the lashes of her narrowed eyes. She turned from me and advanced on Beige. “Do it.” My jaw dropped in surprise at her words.

  The stocky Russian stepped forward and warbled. “Ayako Izanagi, I bind you. May the power reject you. May it not claim you as its own.” She stepped back and a man with cinnamon-colored skin and glossy straight black hair came forward.

  “We don’t need your consent,” Beige explained sotto voce. “The binding of an anchor doesn’t require unanimity, only a majority.”

  I started to protest, to do something, anything, to get them to slow down, to reconsider, but a clamor arose from the pallbearers, shrieks and metallic clacks combined as the bier rocked and fell from their grasp. The bier crashed to the ground, or at least what passed for the ground in this place. The noise made by the collapse seemed real enough, and the pallbearers slid back in a dismayed unison, appearing to grow both angrier and more frightened in each passing moment. The corpse rolled a few feet, ending face-up. At first it lay still; then a slight quiver moved through the body. Had we been mistaken? Had Teague somehow survived? No, Ellen hadn’t uncovered a single sign of life when she examined him. Still the body moved, convulsed. I took a few steps forward, my curiosity leading me to break through the extended circle the pallbearers had made around their intended meal. It bucked up once, twice, then stood, like a marionette being jerked upright. His nearly severed head bobbed then dangled sickeningly to the side.

  Something was moving beneath Teague’s skin; his abdomen extended as if an elbow were pressing against it. The projection slid to the side, giving the impression that whatever was inside was turning around. Teague’s hands rose, then his fingers tore at the skin of his chest, piercing it and prying it open. Like opening a zipper, Teague’s hands tore at the wound, enlarging it until an abdominal cave split open in a shower of blood and offal. Another being emerged from its center, shaking off Teague’s form like an ill-fitting suit. The casing lay still now, but my eyes had already abandoned it and were transfixed by the shape that had burst from the corpse as if it were a chrysalis. It stood before us, slippery and red, naked except for the sheen of Teague’s fluids. I took the image in first as being human, second as female. Her laughter punctuated the screams of the pallbearers whom she turned to ash with a wave of her hand.

  “Gudrun,” a voice behind me said, dread falling on me as I realized it was indeed the witch who had worked with my own great-grandmother in her efforts to bring down the line. I turned away from the sight of her just as a pain in my midsection shot through me. A sharp quiver bent me, forced my eyes closed. I drew in a deep breath after it subsided. I opened my eyes and found myself, my real self, not an avatar, back home, sitting across from the vacant forms of Maisie, my aunts, and my uncle. Another pain, like I had been punched in the stomach, caused me to gasp in a sharp intake of air.

  I saw a flash, and my consciousness returned to my avatar. Beige was speaking, but I couldn’t make out his words. Everyone, even my aunts and Oliver, remained fixated on Gudrun; they hadn’t realized I was in distress. Another pain, like a burning knife, shot through me, and the world went black. I gasped in air and began to cough. I could barely see. The only illumination was the flames that consumed the space around me. My heart fell as I realized the space around me was Magh Meall.

  EIGHTEEN

  Smoke, thick, whitish blue changing to black, filled the air. I called to my family with all my soul, hoping they would suddenly appear at my side, but there was no response to my call. My eyes burned. I got on my hands and knees to try to crawl beneath the noxious fumes. The heat was unbearable. The lack of air was worse. I used the position of the jukebox to orient myself. I went up on my knees and attempted to look around.

  “Claire,” I called and was instantly overcome by a cough. I lowered myself to the floor as an explosion coming from the kitchen area tore through the room. A beam fell from the ceiling, missing me by only inches. I focused on the flames. I willed them to fall back, to die away. Darting in and out and dancing among the natural flames, I recognized fire elementals, salamander-like beings, conscious flames. The same creatures who had saved me when I had been left to burn in Ginny’s house.

  They advanced on me, moving in u
nison as if they were a multiple expressions of a single mind. Their heads bobbed up and down as they vocalized in their ancient tongue, a chant alternately dissonant then harmonious with the fire’s roar. The elementals turned and chased after the natural flames, swallowing them, but the fire was burning too strong. After a few moments, one of the entities returned to me, nodding up and down, half turning, then fully turning. Walking away and stopping. Looking back at me. I realized it wanted me to follow, follow it even deeper into the inferno. I hesitated and considered once again sliding away, getting my baby and myself to safety, but the thought brought another pain, not as sharp, but strong enough to get my attention.

  This pain, I realized, was little Colin’s first kick, and he was serious about getting my attention. Somehow my child knew something I didn’t. “Okay, baby. Mama’s listening.” I crawled forward, keeping my head low. The elemental was leading me back toward the kitchen, but stopped near the bar. There, sticking out from beneath a pile of smoking rubble, I saw a hand. I recognized it as Peter’s. My crawl turned into a desperate scramble as I fought to draw near his side. I leaned up and waved my arm, allowing my magic to remove the destruction that lay on top of him. I realized he was not alone beneath the pile. He was lying on top of Claire. It looked like he had tried to shelter her. I knelt next to the two, leaning in to hook my left arm under Claire’s neck and grabbing hold of Peter’s arm with my right hand. I feared that big Colin was still trapped in here somewhere. I needed to find him, but first I’d get Peter and Claire to safety.

  Another sound, the wailing of sirens, came from beyond the wall of fire and smoke. I could hear voices barking succinct orders. The front of the bar had only one small window. The side wall was made up of old-fashioned bubble glass panes. With a single blast of a condensed stream of water, these panes shattered into crystals. Tiny shards were spraying everywhere. I closed my eyes and focused on the street outside. When I opened them, Peter was lying next to me, my fingers dug deeply enough into his arm to leave bruises. However, Claire was nowhere to be found. I looked up, sick with fear. Peter began stirring, but I had to go back. I had to get Claire and find Colin and get him out as well.

  I squeezed Peter’s hand in mine, then released it as I prepared to slide back into the burning tavern. In the moment before I closed my eyes, someone stepped between me and the flashing lights of the emergency. “Don’t waste your effort.” The whirling red, white, and blue lights of the emergency vehicles lit Josef, my half brother, my mother’s lover, up from behind. “Your little teleportation trick only works on the living.” He tilted his head, and the light found his face so that I could observe his tight smile, the curve of his lips only serving as the underpinning for the cruel gleam in his icy blue eyes. “Your mother wanted you to know you were always in her thoughts.” Josef laughed and faded into the darkness. An EMT turned at the sound of Josef’s maniacal laughter and ran over to examine us.

  “My in-laws are still inside,” I tried to yell, finding my voice coming out only as a froggy whisper. She understood and called out to her fellows. One of them, a fireman, took off his helmet and wiped away the sweat on his brow with the back of his sleeve. He shook his head slowly before donning the hat again and returning to the fire. I understood the meaning of his gesture, but he had to be wrong. I sent out a psychic ping into the ruined bar, trying to locate Claire and big Colin. It came back to me empty. There wasn’t a living soul inside.

  The next few minutes were a blur. Peter was hoisted onto a gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance. “I’m fine,” I protested to the forms in uniforms that encircled me. “Look after my husband.” More sirens. More lights dazzling the night sky. Police cars. I heard the word “accelerant.” I called out again to my family, but still could find no connection. Had Gudrun harmed them? Was her arrival somehow connected to this destruction?

  “Mercy.” My name pulled me from my thoughts. My heart leapt at the sound of Peter’s voice. He pulled the oxygen mask from his face. He was so pale. His hand trembled so violently it broke my heart.

  “What happened here, buddy?” The voice behind the question combined authority and concern. I turned to see Adam looming over me.

  Peter tried to force himself up, but winced and remained supine. “The place was empty. We were closing up. Then it showed up out of nowhere,” he said to Adam. Or I guess Detective Cook, as he appeared to be here in his official capacity. Peter coughed, and another EMT tried to put the mask back in place, but Peter pushed it away. His staring eyes held no luster. His breath was coming fast and shallow. “It mauled my dad. Oh, God. Oh, God.” His eyes focused on the memory of what happened next. He looked up at me, white as a sheet and tears brimming in his eyes.

  “What showed up out of nowhere?”

  “This guy’s in shock.” The EMT stretched the elastic band and forced the mask back over Peter’s face. “Keep that on, buddy.” He flashed a light into his eyes. “Looks like he may be concussed, and that arm’s broken.” He nodded at Peter’s right arm, which the EMT had managed to work into a sling without my even noticing. He turned to Adam. “You should save the questions until after he’s checked out in the ER.”

  “Detective,” a uniformed officer called to Adam. “You need to see this.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Adam reached toward me and pulled me into a tight embrace, placing a kiss on my temple. He released me, staring intently into my eyes, nostrils flaring. He was starting to say something when the officer called his name again, this time with a greater insistence. “You have her examined too,” he said, pointing at me and giving the EMT a stern look to let him know it wasn’t merely a request. I started to protest that I was fine, but Adam wagged his finger once in my face, then went to see what the patrolman who had called him had to say. The EMTs packed Peter into the back of the ambulance, and I sat by his side. Peter kept trying to sit up, but the tech had the foresight to strap him down to the gurney. Peter turned his head toward me. “You’ve got to tell Adam,” he said.

  “Tell him what, sweetie?” I asked, assuming he was delirious.

  “The fire. It was a wolf that started it.” The ambulance whisked us away to the tune of its shrieking siren. I held tight to Peter’s free hand, but my eyes remained fixed on the ruins of Magh Meall until we turned the corner, and there was nothing left to see except the smoke that rose up to blot out the stars.

  NINETEEN

  I’m sure the anchors would have counted themselves as lucky. Even though Gudrun had broken out of her dimensional prison and was once again free to wreak havoc on our world, from their vantage, Gudrun’s escape had so far been bloodless. Of course, they wouldn’t count the scavengers Gudrun had turned to ash. Nor would they overly concern themselves with the losses to my family.

  I sat alone at the kitchen table, watching an easy rain fall on Savannah and painting my nails a demure pink. Seemed as good a shade as any for a funeral. Rather than the jagged grief I would have expected to descend on me, I just felt numb. I couldn’t really comprehend that Peter’s parents were both gone. Murdered by my own half brother.

  I should have realized how vulnerable the Tierneys had been. Done something more than weave a few protection spells against a magical attack. I should have realized that if those who wished us harm were prevented from attacking using magic, they would rely on everyday violence.

  Colin had died directly at Josef’s hands, or should that be claws. Josef was a skin-walker. He had chosen to make his attack in lupine rather than human form. A wolf capable of human treachery. The thought made me shudder.

  Josef hadn’t touched Claire. She had succumbed to a beam that fell in during the explosion. Peter had carried her lifeless body as far as he could before giving in to smoke inhalation. He broke his arm in the fall and was concussed by debris dropping from the Tierneys’ apartment on the floor above the bar.

  Part of my mind kept telling me that there was no way any of t
his could be real. That soon, I’d wake up and realize it had only been a nightmare. But the world around me kept moving.

  I blew on my nails to help dry the lacquer, then reached for my chamomile tea. The heat of the cup warmed my right hand, while the fingers of my left hand examined the cool smoothness of my best pearls. White pearls, black maternity shift dress. My feet were too swollen even for my flats: early onset swelling, another perk of my unconventional pregnancy. At least I finally had a practical use for my worthless magic: I’d spell them into fitting.

  I’d have to go up soon and rouse Peter. He had barely left our room for three days now. He hadn’t shaved or showered. Iris had done her best to see Peter was fed, cooking all his favorites and stopping just short of spoon-feeding him herself. Oliver had tried both drinking with him and leaving him to drink alone. Peter wouldn’t even let Ellen come near him. She wanted to heal his arm; he said he needed to feel the pain. Me, he was barely even talking to.

  He didn’t want to blame me, of that I was sure, but how could he not? He’d look around me rather than at me. I spent what seemed like days on my knees, begging my husband to turn toward me in his pain and not away. He didn’t want to talk. He blamed me for his parents’ death, and honestly, I blamed myself too. I set my mug on the table and applied polish to the fingers of the other hand.

  I studied the back of my hand as the fresh lacquer dried, making a connection between the number of fingers and the five deaths my family had endured in six months. I counted Ginny in that number, because part of me said I had to. I included Jilo, and even Tucker, because my heart told me it was true. I certainly did not count Connor or Teague.

  Nor did I include my mother.

  The uniformed officer at the site of the fire, the one who had been so anxious to catch Adam’s attention, had found Emily’s head in a satin-lined chest outside the ruins of Magh Meall. Why Josef had turned against her we might never know. She had chosen to align herself with a sociopath, undoubtedly believing she could control him, certainly never suspecting that his violence might one day be turned against her. Josef had aligned himself with Gudrun, and this alliance had proven deadly to my mother.