by Karen Greco
The force of my head snapping back made him release my hair. I turned and swung, landing a punch directly on his ear, probably shattering his eardrum. I followed with a series of five uppercuts that pushed him back towards the stairs.
While Marcello shook off the punches, I ran across the basement, towards the sound of running water, hoping it was the stream that ran under the house. My foot splashed through a small puddle. It was so dark in the basement, I couldn't tell if I was safely across the running water or just caught a foot full of leaky basement. I turned and faced off with Marcello. I was just out of his reach, and he couldn't come any closer. I took another step back, breathing heavy.
"It's not over, bitch!" His white fangs glinted in what little light there was in the dank cement cellar.
I grabbed behind me, trying to pull the crossbow over my shoulder. It was stuck on something. I yanked at it harder, and the sound of splintering wood made me slump. The blow to my back damaged the crossbow. It was a poorly held together pile of toothpicks.
Releasing my left knife from the sheath, the razor-sharp blade dropped out of my sleeve and rested just over my hand. I ducked down and cupped a handful of the stream water with my right hand. It burned my skin when I touched it. Frankie was right. Something was up with this water. I would have to ask Father Dougherty how this was possible.
With a primal scream, I sent an arc of water at Marcello. The smell of burning flesh hit my nose again, and Marcello screamed in pain.
I lunged at him with the blade. Missing my mark, it landed just under his heart and lodged in his ribcage with a snap that let me know I had cracked at least one of his ribs. He howled and grabbed my throat and tossed me back over the stream. I landed hard on my back, and the pressure of the fall pushed splinters from the broken crossbow into my flesh.
I groaned. Frankie had done some sort of blood magic to the crossbow, and shards embedded in my back were weakening me. I looked at Marcello, who had my weapon still lodged in his ribcage. The second witch was next to him. He handed her the witch blade.
"Kill her," he commanded with a grin. His teeth were still coated in the blood of the other witch whose heart he’d eaten.
Crap. She could cross the water. I struggled to get back on my feet, but his binding power over the witch made her swift. Still on the floor, I pulled my dad's knife out of my boot. As she came down on me with her blade, I pulled her arm towards me. Since she was expecting me to push away, not pull, I used her split-second confusion to my advantage and shifted my position. I yelped as her knife plunged into my shoulder. But with momentum still on my side, I pulled her down onto my knife, a direct hit to the heart. She cried out. I could feel her power draw into the blade. Her beautiful face aged half a century as she expelled her last breath. A skeleton with sparse hair and rotted flesh slumped on top of me. I reached in and pulled out her heart. I threw it angrily at Marcello.
The power I drew into the blade surged through me, killing the ill effects of Frankie's crossbow. Pushing the witch off me, I scrambled to my feet.
Marcello's eyes were red with anger. I had killed his last witch and pulled her power to me. He picked up her heart and bit into it, blood dripped down his chin. He began chanting in that weird language. Wind picked up around me, and he pulled at me again. I was dragged across the stream, my legs burning as they skimmed across the water. I hovered directly over the stream. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to move my body. Then suddenly Marcello released me and I dropped straight into the water. It felt like my entire body was engulfed in flames.
I pulled myself out and laid on the floor, my body singed. But I was on the wrong side of the water. Marcello picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me further away from the stream. I pulled myself to my knees and the room was spinning. Marcello staggered across the room after me, and Latin flowed out of his mouth with more urgency the closer he got. My skin began to blister. A blister broke out on my right palm, and the open wound hit the iron hilt of the blade that I still groped. A white-hot burning sensation exploded through my arm, killing my nerve endings. I dropped the knife, and it landed with a heavy clang on the hard, cement floor.
Marcello held me by my throat against the wall. A stake was in his right hand, his left hand gripped around my throat, pulling at me until my feet were off the ground. He drew his head to me and whispered in my ear, "You were worth the wait."
I screamed and he rammed a stake into my heart.
My body went cold. He released my neck and I slumped down to the floor. My breathing was shallow. Casper was pushing forward again, trying to use his magic to piece me back together again. But like Humpty Dumpty, I was beyond repair.
Marcello stood over me, his twisted laughter echoing off the cold, hard walls. Marcello reached behind him and pulled a long blade out of a sheath that ran down his back. He swung a samurai sword over his head. It wasn’t the way I wanted to go out, but at least I was going down fighting. I resolved not to close my eyes when he decapitated me. I just hoped I didn't scream.
I did a double take. A hulking shadow came up behind Marcelo. I blinked and looked again. It was the shadow of a man, but twice the size of a normal-sized person. A huge hand caught the side of Marcello's head, and he went sailing across the room, the sword clattered on the cold stone floor. I heard the satisfying thud of Marcello's body hitting the wall.
At close to eight feet tall, the giant stooped over to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Taking him in slowly, I saw that he was built like a pro-wrestler, but twice the size, enormous muscles popping out everywhere. His eyes blazed red and his face was twisted with rage.
With the speed of a puma, Marcello leaped on top of the giant. I watched him sink his teeth into the strange thing's neck, and the giant roared in anger. His huge hands whipped around, and he sent Marcello sailing again. This time, he stomped after him.
I couldn't find enough strength to lift my head and see what was happening, but I could hear the crunch of bones and shrieks of pain as the fighting continued. Though they were mismatched in size, Marcello's age meant that he was stronger than other supernatural beings. Add in the witch stuff, and he was damn near unstoppable. So he and the Giant were formidable opponents. A huge crack and a thud of a body hitting the ground pulled me back to attention. I opened my eyes and stared in horror as Marcello, bloodied and bruised but already healing, came at me with a renewed vigor.
Marcello's maniacal laugh cut off with a sudden grunt. My father’s iron blade pushed through his chest and came out the other side. I looked at his face -- a mix of confusion and euphoria. In one swift move, the sword was swiped from his hand and struck at his neck. Marcello's head was lobbed off with such force that it flew out of view. It landed with a splash in the stream.
Frankie's tear-streaked face came into focus. He dropped to the floor beside me. I reached a bloody hand up and touched his cheek, replacing his tears with a trail of blood. He grabbed my hand and shook his head. "Please forgive me," he whispered. His fangs pushed through, and his eyes turned a deeper cerulean blue than ever. He kissed my fingers, dropped his face to my neck, and his fangs slipped slowly, gently, into my neck.
I moaned, the mix of pain and euphoria faint as my heart slowed. Frankie pulled at my blood with more and more intensity. Casper slipped out of my body, leaving me limp in Frankie's lap.
"I'm so sorry, Nina. I have to bind you to me to save you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. But you can't die."
Without lifting his mouth from my neck, he carefully pulled the stake out of my chest, then held his hand over the wound, pressing gently when my blood spurted in time to my slowly beating heart. His warm tears mixed with the blood dripping down my chest. I reached my hands around his neck. He pulled me closer to him.
Faint voices were yelling, and swift footsteps descended the stairs, stopping suddenly at the sight of us. Babe screamed.
"What in the name of Morrag!" Dr. O called out, and it sounded like someone took a tumble the rest o
f the way down the worn steps.
Pulling against Frankie, I tried to lift my head to see what was happening. But a massive force pushed Frankie away from me, almost taking a chunk of my neck with him.
"Nina! Run!" Frankie pushed at the giant, but with a swift swipe of his hand, Frankie was tossed into the wall.
A pair of enormous hands made their way towards me, and I squirmed away from them. The beast had a body of a human, but so much larger. It was muscled up like a Venice Beach bodybuilder on super-steroids, his thighs the size of tree trunks. Veins bulged out of his biceps, which had to be over two feet in diameter. His face was twisted in rage.
I pulled at the vial of Gregorian water around my neck, and yanked it open. I threw it blindly in front of me. Inexplicably, I hit my mark. The beast let out a roar that was part animal, part human. It dropped to the floor and its body began to shudder and convulse. When the violent spasms finally slowed down, I realized that the thing was changing, becoming more human than animal. It was Max, lying naked and shaking on the floor.
"What the hell?" I whispered. I could hear Babe and Dr. O moving across the dark basement. I tried pulling myself towards their voices but collapsed in a heap. I could go no further.
I felt a pair of strong hands pull me. Frankie drew me to him. Falling limply into his arms, I took a deep, shuddering breath and let the dark take over.
CHAPTER 32
It was 33 degrees Fahrenheit so we were the only fools on the beach. Well, Darcy and I were slightly less foolish than Frankie and Max.
Darcy had finally stopped her wailing and made it to Rhode Island from Nevada just in time to see me discharged from the hospital. And it was perfect timing too. She had to use her banshee charm on my doctor for an early discharge. He was witnessing way too many “miracles” at my recovery. She convinced him that it was simply his amazing healing abilities. I think she even lined up a date with him for after the New Year.
We were doing a beach run, bundled up in the finest winter running clothes available at the overpriced running store. Max and Frankie were actually in the ocean. The vampire was learning to surf.
It was a cold but brilliant day. The sun was high and vibrant, one of those winter afternoons when the sun is almost blinding.
We plopped ourselves down in the sand and watched the two guys in their wet suits climbing back onto the surfboards. Frankie gave me what I call The Bat Signal, our "go for it" sign. I closed my eyes and, taking a breath, conjured the waves. When I opened them, the water was churning, and the waves were larger. Max, already standing on the board, coached Frankie through his next steps. Frankie looked elated as he lifted his body up from the board. A wave crashed over him, tossing him into the water. His head bobbed up to the surface, and his black shaggy hair didn't hide his megawatt grin. It made the shooting pain in my head that came with using my witch magic almost worth it.
"He's so happy!" Darcy smiled.
"He hasn't seen sunlight in over 700 years. I’d be happy too," I said with a giggle.
"Yeah, I guess that'd put a smile on anybody’s face," she said as she uncapped a thermos and poured out a steaming cup of hot, rum-spiked cider into the tiny cup. After a sip, she passed it over to me.
It warmed me to my toes. "Every vamp fantasizes about day-walking, but to get it from demon taint? He's gotta be wondering what the catch is."
Frankie had broken the medallion my dear old uncle gave him after the witch attack at the farmhouse. The residual effect of the demon magic was that he could be in sunlight again. But Bertrand's help didn't come without consequences. We just didn't know when he would come calling to get the favor repaid. And we didn't know how long the day-walking would last. He could fry in the sunlight any minute. Between Max and Frankie, I wished demon magic came with an instruction manual.
Darcy pushed a lock of her lavender-streaked, white-blond hair away from her face. "Maybe he'll deal with that tomorrow?"
I wish he was dealing with it at all. Instead, every day was like Christmas. I was worried that he was enjoying it too much. Max learned about those consequences the night I almost died. Bertrand made him a monster just like us. I watched this muscles work to stand on the board, his wet dirty blond curls flopping into his face. A beautiful monster, for certain, but a monster all the same.
"Maybe if Bertrand wins the election, he'll consider the favor called in?" Darcy tried.
I shook my head. "I doubt it. Today’s the election and he's got the thing won. He knows it."
Bertrand had been all over the news crowing about how he was responsible for calling in the FBI agent who took down the most dangerous serial killer in New England since the Boston Strangler. He had the whole thing in the bag. I'd have to call him Mayor Demon now.
"It's good to have you here, Darcy." I dropped my head on her shoulder and she planted a sisterly kiss on my head. "How was it?"
"Different this time," she said with a shrug. "It took a lot longer to get back to myself than it usually does. I need to talk to Dr. O, but I think I may need to call someone to death soon. I don't think I can wail anymore without the cry being sated."
Darcy was the first banshee that Dr. O had ever worked with, so she was kind of a guinea pig. He didn't know how much of her banshee nature could be suppressed. He didn't want her to have to kill, but she may not be able to help it. Unlike vampires who could get human blood without killing their supplier, a banshee visit always ended in death.
"He'll figure something out," I said, trying to comfort her. I handed her the cup back. "He always does."
I looked down the length of the beach, where Babe and Dr. O were talking a walk and squinted. "Darcy, does it look like they are holding hands?"
"Sure does," she giggled
"Oh God no!" my hands flew up to cover my eyes. I heard Darcy squeal, "Don't open your eyes yet! You don't want to see them kiss."
"At least my aunt's getting lucky?" I was happy for her, really, but still. I shuddered at the thought. "Wonder how long that's been going on."
Darcy shrugged. "Probably longer than we want to admit. Speaking of which, what's up with you and Max?"
"Don't know. I am not sure if he's going back to the West Coast. Life as he knew it is pretty much over."
"Right," Darcy said quietly. She watched Frankie and Max, who were now back on their boards. "Glad they were able to forgive each other."
"Well, Max had no idea that Bertrand turned him into a Berserker, so it's not really his fault." I sighed. I told both Max and Frankie not to trust Bertrand. I still needed to rub that into Max's face at some point, but I would save it for later. He wasn't exactly handling the whole Berserker thing well. Of course, how does someone handle turning into the Incredible Hulk when riled up? I couldn't blame him. But even if Max wanted to go back west, Dr. O would probably nix it until he was sure Max knew how to control himself in the transformation. He had a lot to learn about all of us before we could unleash him on the world. Sure, he thought Frankie was killing me, but Frankie was saving my life.
"Berserker, wow," Darcy said, taking a sip from the Thermos mug. "Makes me grateful for being a banshee."
"I don't know. He's ass-kicking HUGE. I think it's pretty badass."
She ran a hand through her hair. "There's got to be a downside."
We all knew too well about downsides.
"Well,” I said, “throwing himself into battle in a frenzied rage can reduce his lifespan dramatically." This was a major downside. If he didn't learn to control the raging, he was more of a threat than an asset.
Darcy stared out at the guys, still paddling their boards, waiting for the Big One. Since we were the east coast, I would probably have to conjure it up for them. "He loves you, you know that, right?"
I choked on air. "Max? Darcy, please. He can barely look at me after what happened."
"Not Max,” she sighed impatiently. "Frankie."
"Frankie?" I squished up my face. "Come on, I've known him forever, since I was just a kid. He loves
me, but he doesn't loooove me."
"Don't think so." Her voice was slightly smug.
"He just feels badly about the binding-me-to-him thing," I insisted, though I couldn't meet Darcy's eyes. To be honest, I wasn't so sure that he felt all that bad about it.
"Yes, he does." She crossed her arms and gave me a look. "But he wants you to love him for him, not because you are bound to him."
"You're wrong," I said flatly. Then I stared down the shoreline, watching the waves crashing along the rocks.
Darcy scoffed. "Am I? I am a damn banshee, Nina. About love and death, I am never, ever wrong."
I couldn't argue with that point. I stared at Frankie, who was up on the board again. With his jet-black hair and pale skin, he looked completely out of place on a surfboard. He looked over at me and his grin widened.
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. "I need this like I need another stake in the heart."
Darcy stared at me, expectantly. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Exactly what any other woman would do. Ignore it." I scrambled to my feet and gave Darcy a hand. I hauled her up and we linked arms. The crashing waves followed us as we walked and talked the length of the beach. A group of teen boys were clustered at the end of the beach, smoking a joint and watching Max surf and Frankie make a fool of himself. They reminded me of Casper.
I hadn't seen or heard from him since he disappeared from the farmhouse. I had no idea if he finally moved on from this realm or if he was haunting someone else. I kind of missed his smart-ass running commentary in my head. I didn't miss the migraines he gave me. I still got them whenever I used my witch powers, but they weren't nearly as intense as when he was possessing me.