“You were just another poor excuse for a woman, believing his parlor tricks and thinking he was a stud, because you wanted someone to make you feel special. It must have been a real downer to realize it was the dragon’s blood he was constantly guzzling and giving out in droplets,” I yelled, trying to get her worked up.
The dragon’s blood was still working in me, and I was staying relatively calm. The more excited a person got, the faster the dragon’s blood burned out.
The ploy worked. She knocked me on my ass with a conjured gust of hurricane-strength wind. Her rage filled scream clued me in.
As I hit the ground for the second time, I looked over at the stage. Sterling was straining but had lost little ground. He was holding back a torrent of energy coming at him from a visual nightmare.
Nyarlathotep had shed his human avatar. Now he stood at least ten feet high and resembled a three-legged giant whose flesh had been flayed off. He had no face, only a wide, gaping mouth, and instead of a human head, a long tentacle crowned his body.
My view of the terrifying spectacle was cut short by Charise’s fist. She struck me in the head, then followed with a blow from the opposite hand. I brought my knee up hard between her legs, and she yelped in pain. I followed that by jamming the first two fingers of my left hand, to the second knuckle, up her nostrils.
That got her attention, as I curled my fingers and blood started to seep around them. I cast a spell that made the temperature of whatever my fingers touched drop to absolute zero, giving her the worst case of brain-freeze ever. I used my right fist to punch my fingers free.
Charise squirmed to get away. Screeching in choked bursts, she held what was left of her nose with both hands.
“Ah keeeelllll yooooooo!” she wailed between her fingers.
We had both gotten to our feet. Instead of speaking, I held up my right hand and shook my head.
Dirk’s reanimated corpse was behind Charise. He leaned in and tore open her carotid artery with his teeth. Charise’s eyes grew wide, very quickly. She tried to pull away from Dirk, or lunge for me, or perhaps both. Dirk grabbed her around her chest and pulled her back.
“You’ve got a little time before you bleed out,” I informed her in my most casual tone. Letting my darkest nature take over, I commanded Dirk, “Screw her until she dies, then do it harder.”
Dirk’s blood-soaked grin did not change as he forced Charise to the ground. She was unable to scream. She could only make desperate, angry, gurgling sounds.
I left them to their fun and ran for the stage.
Nyarlathotep was losing ground. Long, deep gouges in the stage floor showed the progress Sterling had made in pushing the old god back toward the portal. The two men were in classic testosterone stances, both pushing, using all their will to win. I have always despised “pissing contests.”
Time to tip the scales.
I drew the life force that was flittering away from Charise and used it to increase my control of the energy around and below me. Walking past Sterling, I hiked up the hill until I had a clear view over my lover’s head. Then I unleashed a wind like the one Charise had used on me, but ten times more powerful. It knocked Sterling to the side, tore the grass from the dirt leading up to the stage, and struck the hellish apparition of the Old One across its entire body.
Nyarlathotep careened backward. He was struck with fragments of the stage as they came loose and flew past him towards the portal. He followed a few moments later, making a lot of noise and likely cursing me for interfering in his plans.
The portal collapsed, and things got quiet, except for the sounds of a zombie humping a corpse. But I digress.
Brushing himself off, Sterling got to his feet and looked at me.
“Just for the shove, you’re going to help clean up this mess,” he informed me, but I could see his eyes twinkling.
“Nah, I did the heavy lifting,” I countered. “I’m going to get a beer and relax.”
So, I did, right after I picked up the grimoire from where Charise had dropped it.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunday
The next morning, I teleported to Thornrose Cemetery just before daybreak. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as I walked to the memorial where Althea had been kidnapped.
It was time to give the Devil his due, as the saying went, and I was the harbinger of doom.
This time, I didn’t need to call the ghosts. I was only a little surprised, but I probably still had some remnants of dragon’s blood sputtering about in my veins. The stuff had always affected me oddly, and this time was no different. At least I didn’t need to exert any extra energy. Considering what my next appointment entailed, I was thankful to keep it in reserve.
Come to me, my pretties, I thought as a smile slipped across my lips. I tried to keep it pleasant, but I was definitely feeling more Wicked Witch of the West than Glenda the Good Witch.
The Victorian ladies, the teenage boys, and a couple dozen other ghosts drifted close to me. More milled around on the outer edge of my influence. My attention, however, was on a ghost in Civil War-era clothing who was striding toward me. It was Emmett, the soldier and self-proclaimed speaker of the group.
He was the ghost I had come to see.
“Emmett, my dear fellow,” I began, the smile never leaving my face. The ghost puffed his chest out, and my smile grew wider. “Gather ‘round, my dear spirits. I have a tale to tell about the esteemed Emmett and your favorite, former ghost whisperer.”
“Hey, what do ya mean ‘former?’” One of the teens asked. “Was the lady killed?”
“Almost, but not quite. She has, however, had the amulet that allowed her to see and speak to you removed from her possession.” I kept my eyes on Emmett as I answered the teenager. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught the kid’s crestfallen expression and felt a little bad about it. “Is there anything you wish to say before I begin, Emmett?”
“I’m pleased to hear the lady has been found. It is sad that she won’t be speaking with us anymore,” Emmett replied. He sounded sincere.
“Question time!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “Has anyone here wondered why Althea was kidnapped from here? How her kidnappers knew when she would be here, visiting you?”
“We’ve been talking about that,” the taller teen said, gesturing to himself and the other teen. “Doesn’t make any sense unless they were watching our yard for a long time before they took her.” He paused before saying in a quieter voice, “Or someone told them when and where to find her.”
“And we have a winner!” I threw my arms wide, enjoying the audience of ghosts I’d acquired. It reminded me a bit of my former days as the Lady of Death, when I’d had a Court and people bowing at my feet. I didn’t take more than a moment to dwell on that, mostly because that way led to madness. “The young fellow has the gist of it. Someone within your fold told someone else where Althea could be found and when. Someone told a certain now-dead person about the amulet. That dearly departed person had to be able to see ghosts, one way or another.” I flicked my fingers toward Emmett. “Does anyone here wish to come clean while they still can?”
“None in my court would perform such a betrayal,” Emmett said, his ghostly form standing stiff, almost at military attention. He tried to look down at me, but I wasn’t having it. My eyes and blood burned, and the guilty party was going to feel that fire.
“No one? Are you certain?” I asked, flicking my fingers again.
This time sparks danced around Emmett’s well-worn boots. They lit the toes of his shoes and crept along the outer edge. Gray wisps of fog rose into the air, leaving nothing behind.
I do mean nothing. What the sparks destroyed remained gone. Nothing would bring it back.
The other ghosts shuffled uncomfortably as they moved away from Emmett. He looked down at his rapidly disappearing feet with wide eyes.
“None of these good people would take advantage of the fae woman!” he
insisted, even as the sparks crept up his legs.
“No,” I agreed, “None of the other ghosts did, Emmett. I am holding the sole betrayer responsible, in full.”
Emmett had dissipated from the waist down. The fingers on both hands were dissolving as he held them in front of his panicked face. Most of the ghosts were looking away. None were leaving, however, and I had cast no spell to keep them there.
“You cannot do this!” he shrieked. “You have no proof to substantiate your absurd accusation! Help me, fellows and ladies! She is murdering me!”
“I am dispensing the justice deserved by those who have been laid low or died because of your treachery,” I said coldly. “The fae did not give you the most attention; she treated you all the same. Your greed and ego followed you into the After. The human woman appealed to your lust for attention and praise. For that shallow price, you sold the fae out. You brought misery to your own kind. Worse, yet, you brought it to the living world.”
“You are mad and a butcher of all beings! What claim do you have to such god-like prowess?” Emmett demanded. “Who granted you the right to be judge and executioner?”
His cries and dramatic demands fell flat. More and more of the spirits were looking at him, and their expressions were all accusatory. I smiled and began to wave goodbye to the head and neck floating before me. The sparks were moving slower, creeping toward his chin and ears.
“You are the betrayer!” the head screamed at me. “Only you could do all of this and, now, you destroy me, so I will take the blame!” The sparks were destroying the mouth as he tried to deny the truth one final time.
“You are gone from this and all other planes of existence,” I said in a cheerful tone. “Failure follows your existence to the end.”
As Emmett’s nose dissolved into the air, his eyes and brow creased together in anger.
“I should have known that fair-haired trollop would fail.” Emmett’s voice echoed while the last of him was erased. I heard a sound that might have been a sigh or a gasp from the remaining ghosts in the graveyard.
Casting my eyes around, I asked the gathered souls if they had any questions about my actions or requests for retribution for disturbing them with this unpleasantness.
“Could you come and visit sometimes?” the leader of the colonial ladies asked in a civil voice. “We could all use someone to talk to, especially in light of current events.”
“I will visit and talk,” I replied.
Considering Sterling had the amulet and hadn’t seemed inclined to find someone else to entrust it to, I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, who knew when I might need their help again?
I heard another round of sighs, and the ghosts seemed happier after my reply.
We bid farewell to each other, and I departed via teleportation for my next destination.
With any luck, that meeting would go as smoothly as the one with the ghosts.
Standing on the walkway leading up to the front door of Dante’s home, I took a moment to examine the house in the brightness of day. I hoped, again, that the meeting would be without difficulties.
I tried to decide if the house was more appealing in the daylight. After a few moments, I decided it wasn’t appealing at all, though I suspected that had more to do with the owner than the architecture.
Xantos had chosen Dante’s home as the place for the deal. I glanced at my purse where the grimoire was concealed and sighed. The grimoire was interesting late-night reading, and I would have loved the opportunity to examine it longer, but I had to broker this deal, so I bid the tome a fond farewell.
As I started up the walkway, Dante opened the door. Today’s ensemble consisted of a crisp Italian business suit that was dark blue with darker pinstripes.
Nothing but the best for this demon. I almost felt underdressed in my black leather pants and white blouse. My black, narrow-heeled boots gave me a few extra inches of height. I even wore the leather jacket, since it still held the protective spells. I’d left my hair down, and my makeup was subtle.
Dante smirked at me with a raised brow. His eyes swept over my mostly-casual clothes, and I suspected he was questioning my choice.
That was perfectly fine. I’ve worn clothing that would rival that of the world’s richest people and the royalty of foreign countries. I can assure you, it isn’t the clothes that make the person.
Dante stepped back as I neared the door and gestured for me to enter. I walked past him, into his living room.
That was the reason this deal wasn’t being done at my home. Xantos knew I wouldn’t invite Dante into my house.
Dante’s living room hadn’t changed a bit, aside from the lack of smoke and people. I turned and waited for him to start the conversation.
“You grow comfortable with new circumstances very quickly,” Dante observed with obvious approval. “That is an admirable trait that I can appreciate. So, were you here to complete the deal for the grimoire, or have you come for other business?”
“I’ve retrieved the grimoire, and Xantos will be here shortly,” I said, hoping I wasn’t wrong. “That will conclude our business.” At least, I suspected, for now.
“Of course. You know how we devils are—always looking for an angle to deal.” The tone of his voice was playful and casual, but I didn’t like the way his eyes twinkled or the brief smirk on his lips. “While we wait for Xantos the Infamous, would you care for a drink or other refreshment? I have everything anyone could want.”
“Thank you, but no,” I replied. I glanced at my watch, and I suppressed a sigh of relief as the seconds ticked down to the appointed hour.
Xantos appeared out of thin air. As before, there was no bending of light, or mist, or smoke—nothing to announce his coming. I still found it unnerving and was quite envious. To have that much control over energy, where so little was wasted, was beyond rare. Dante was even a little unnerved by it, or perhaps it was Xantos’ presence in his domicile without invitation or spells that made him twitch slightly. Regardless, I was glad it wasn’t just me.
“Such a modern dwelling,” Xantos observed in lieu of greeting or formality. “The mortals must adore it.”
“They do,” Dante agreed. His tone was casual, but I could see he was answering through gritted teeth. “It helps maintain the flow of potential clients.”
“While entrapping the weak souls who cannot see past their own vices and short existence,” Xantos finished. He touched the material of the nearby couch and gave a short snort of disgust or amusement. Probably both.
“As to the item you wish to purchase,” Dante said, “shall we go over the details of the exchange to insure satisfaction for all?”
The short laugh from Xantos made me wince. I wondered if he was deliberately trying to aggravate Dante.
“I’m going to be satisfied when I leave this place, regardless.” He nodded toward me. “She should be as well, since I am taking care of her payment and interests. That leaves you, outcast demon, and your satisfaction is your concern.”
Dante ground his teeth together loudly enough for me to hear.
“We agreed upon 10 million in gold, information on the docelfar’s ‘remedy’ and supply, and—”
“Along with a weekly supplement of new house workers, until you find a satisfactory staff,” cut in Xantos. “The chef and butler will arrive within an hour of our business being completed.”
The docelfar sorcerer sounded bored. I wondered if it was genuine, or if he was pushing the demon’s buttons to garner a response.
“Yes,” Dante said sharply.
Then he smiled and nodded at me. I took the grimoire, wrapped in oilskin, out of my purse and held it out toward Xantos. Xantos took it gently, folding back one corner of the wrapping to expose the book inside. I nodded to myself, pleased with how I’d presented it. Xantos saw the gesture and nodded imperceptibly at me. Then he brought his hands together, and the grimoire, oilskin wrap and all, seemed to compress into his palms and vanish.
Still s
mirking, Xantos produced two items from the folds of his robe. The scroll was fresh parchment and the bag was only six inches in length. The sorcerer placed the items on the couch, close to Dante, before stepping back.
Dante leaned over and picked up the bag. Loosening the strings with his teeth, Dante peered into the bag. He plunged his free hand into it, all the way to the elbow. When he pulled his hand from the enchanted sack, there was a thick gold bar, nine inches in length, gripped in his fingers. He looked in the bag again. His mouth was moving, and after a moment, I realized he was counting. When he reached fifty, Dante nodded, put the bar back in the bag, then closed it. He placed the bag on his couch but did not pick up the scroll.
“I have given you no reason to spoil our deal, so I am confident about the scroll’s contents. This exchange is satisfactory. I look forward to meeting the chef and butler,” Dante declared. With that done, he took his new possessions and made his way to the basement entrance.
“We know the way out,” I murmured under my breath.
“Should I expect you to visit the grimoire anytime soon?” Xantos asked with a smirk.
No one likes being surprised to the point where they snap their eyes open or turn their head toward someone with an obvious expression of “how did you know?” on their face. But, damn him, Xantos got that from me. I thought back to the previous evening, when I had gone home after the fight with the escaping god and the crazy blonde.
The fatigue of the previous evening’s events had taken its toll on my body. Stepping over to my kitchen sink, I’d turned on the water and scrubbed my hands, then my face. When I was satisfied all the blood—especially the blood that wasn’t mine—was gone, I had stopped and toweled dry. A wound on my face had still been bleeding, though. I’d given it a minute, then wiped the blood from the gash and smeared it over the grimoire’s cover. That had ensured the grimoire was mine, completely, until Xantos added his. I’d placed a bandage over the wound and grabbed a cold beer from an area microbrewery out of the fridge. I’d finished the beer before I passed out on my couch.
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