I looked back at March. He shrugged helplessly and pulled back into the dining room so all I could see was one bespectacled eye.
“Useless,” I told him. “Okay, Paraplexius, I’m so glad you could come for a visit, but your time is up and we’d like you to go home now.”
Its head swayed thoughtfully. Then it said, very slowly, “No.”
“Oh, is that how you want to play it?” I stalled for time. “Look, just go on back to, uh, wherever you came from, and send us a postcard when you get there.” I made a shooing motion while I racked my brain for the protocol on this. “We can, umm… schedule your next visit and all. To get you acclimated.” Okay, okay, okay! Think. How to send spirits back? Exorcism? Damn. I couldn’t remember the whole rite. Probably just chanting in Latin wouldn’t work.
“Have you been summoned to Earth before?”
“We have.”
There was some kind of delay between my words and this thing’s reactions. It grinned its terrible grin while I waited, gingerly easing a hand into my bag and feeling around for the anyshooter. I wasn’t getting anywhere with my Barbara Walters impersonation. We were going to have to get serious.
“Why are you here?”
Pause. Horrible grin.
“We come to be free.”
“Okay, I hear you, but why won’t you just, you know… leave?”
Pause. And this time it looked down the hall toward the spot where March had been. The hideous smile dropped. “We are caged. The master must spill the blood to unlock the cage.”
I found what I was looking for and slowly took my hand out, clutching the anyshooter, trying to steady myself. “March. That’s you, the master.” I turned so the Professor was on my left at the end of the hall and Paraplexius on my right. “When you made your golem, did you use anything like hair, or fingernails, or something like that?” I gently snicked open the cylinder and felt a tiny trill of relief at what I saw.
“No. I didn’t think of it.” He sounded a little bummed about that.
“Has Paraplexius here been trying to kill you? Or hurt you in some way?”
“No,” March squeaked.
That meant two things: one, Paraplexius couldn’t leave the host golem body or March’s apartment. And two, March hadn’t done any sort of blood magic, although he’d clearly done something wrong. Typical. Men can’t follow a recipe to save their lives.
I clicked the cylinder back into place, cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger. I’m a terrible shot, so it was lucky that I was so close and Paraplexius was so large. The bullet sank into its arm. After a long breath, it looked down at the hole.
Then it started screaming, the sound like ten thousand talons on a chalkboard the size of Texas.
Dorcha and I backed the rest of the way down the hall into the living room. Paraplexius strode out, its over-large mouth wide. So. Many. Teeth.
Damn.
“What did you do?” March squealed. He dove back under the dining table.
Paraplexius stomped toward me and took a swing. It was as surprised as I was to see that the arm meant to clobber me had melted off, just above where my bullet lodged.
“I shot it with holy water, I think.” There must’ve been one in the breech. No time for regret when a mud-Demon-thing is chasing you.
Dorcha scrambled out of its way as it tried to kick her.
“How do I make it go back to Barbie-doll size?” I screamed.
“You can’t! I think when it perceives a threat, it grows into this thing.” Yeah, helpful this wasn’t.
Ready. Aim. Fire.
I managed to hit its neck this time. Dorcha circled to my right, in case it tried to back out.
The mud-thing stopped moving and turned its head toward me. No time to lose.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s try this again. Where are you from?”
“The Edge.”
“What is your name?”
When it spoke, it was like two dozen people saying their names, but in unison they rumbled, “We are many.”
“Did someone send you?”
“No.”
“Did someone call you?”
It wavered, like it wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Did someone summon you?”
“Yes.” Then, “No.”
“Why can’t you leave this place?”
“Bound by the circle. Protect the master. No sacrifice was made.”
That brought me up short, but I pressed on.
“How do we make you go back where you came from?”
It swayed, like a drunkard after a few too many. It took so long to respond, I thought the alithis had worn off.
“Not all of us will go.”
In a sterner voice, I asked, “How do we make you all go home and leave us alone?”
I knew we didn’t have much time left.
The golem sort of shivered, as though it had gotten a sudden chill. Then it spoke in a totally different voice. This time it sounded much more Human. “For God did not spare even the angels who sinned. He threw them into hell, in gloomy pits of darkness, where they are being held until the day of judgment.”
Two things happened at the same time. Qyll opened the door and the alithis wore off. The golem started screaming and swinging at us with its one good arm. It missed and shattered the crystal chandelier over the dining table. March started crying again.
“Where the hell have you been? We have to get the shem out,” I said by way of greeting, simultaneously tossing the Elisha salt to Qyll and shoving the anyshooter in my bag.
Qyll nodded. “SMART is on the way.”
As Dorcha paced in front of the golem, trying to distract it, I found a little paint left in a spray can and freshened up the seal of Solomon, which had taken a beating in the last few days. I also tried to sweep the dirt into a neater circle. Behind me, Qyll and Dorcha set out to remove the shem. The golem was still in fighting shape, but it was a pretty skinny thing to begin with and had also been through a lot in the last three days. Dorcha’s claws made quick work of the remaining limbs. Fortunately, it didn’t seem able to regenerate quickly.
Once I finished with the seal, I hurried over to help. With the water from a bottle in my cloak, I doused my hand. The torso, head, and one thigh sat snapping at my partner and cat. In one swift motion, I plunged my holy-watered fist into the back of its head, fishing for the paper.
Qyll and Dorcha sprang forward to pin down its face while I dug around in the freezing muck. We were filthy in moments. It was like the worse game show in history.
When my fingers closed over the paper, I pulled my hand free. Whatever was in the golem flowed toward the Seal and vanished. I decided it went back to wherever it came from, because that was a convenient thing to decide, lacking the evidence to the contrary.
Holding the shem over my head like a prizefighter, I let out a whoop.
Panting, all of us, we gave a collective sigh of relief.
March crawled out of his hole. “Tessa, what was that gun you used?”
“You have a gun?” Qyll frowned.
I grinned. “The anyshooter? It was my Nana’s. Very rare. It shoots anything, provided you have the right bullets. The first one was holy water, which was a surprise to everybody. Me included. The second one was what I was hoping for―alithis.”
“Truth serum? I didn’t think that existed anymore.”
“I don’t think it does, but this is from before it went extinct. It’s also like a tranquilizer for supernormals. Very expensive, if you can find it. This was my last one, I think. I probably should’ve saved it for something more important.” I glared at March. “It’s old and there wasn’t much in there. I wasn’t sure it would work at all, let alone the two minutes we got. It was my hail Mary.”
“What did it tell you?”
“Several interesting things, but here’s the most interesting: it’s definitely not a good guy. First of all, that thing stank like I don’t even know. And it kept talking about a blood sacri
fice. A real golem―a friendly, normal one―is summoned to defend its maker. It doesn’t smell like Satan’s ass crack and ask for a blood sacrifice.” I speared March with another glare. “If anything, you at least confirmed that this particular recipe includes a secret ingredient: Demons. Way to go, Martha Stewart.”
We sat there, all pretty much filthy, but glad to have this behind us. Well, I was glad. March, maybe, not so much. Because, you know, a ton of legal trouble.
Of course, the idyll didn’t last long.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Tessa Reddick back to her old tricks.”
Standing in the door was Gideon, and behind him what looked like the entire SMART team.
“Oh, fuck.”
The absence of snakes in Ireland gave rise to the legend that they had all been banished by St. Patrick. However, all evidence suggests that post-glacial Ireland never had snakes. One suggestion, by fiction author A.L. Lesh, is that “snakes” referred to the serpent symbolism of the Druids during that time and place, as evinced on pottery made in Gaul. Lesh connects tattoos of snakes on Druids’ arms as the way in which, in the legend of St. Patrick banishing snakes, the “story goes to the core of Patrick’s sainthood and his core mission in Ireland.”
―A Short History of Witchcraft, Herbert Carmichael
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
n the ensuing commotion, all of these things happened, not necessarily in this order:
The SMARTies secured the apartment.
March started crying again.
I yelled at Gideon for always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Crime scene photographers showed up.
Neighbors were shooed away.
Gideon gleefully announced I was “a very bad girl indeed.”
EMS took March to the hospital.
Qyll called Pryam.
I tried to explain things to Gideon.
We all had to go in for questioning the following day.
I formed a theory.
After I finished talking with one of the SMARTies, I found Qyll flashing his badge at Gideon. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. Special Agent Qyll Toutant. FBI. I’m sure you’re aware Agent Reddick is assisting in a case involving Humans and Others. I trust you know we have an agreement about her with the Arcana permitting those of Other status to aid in cases such as this, pursuant to the addendum A, appendix B, of the Rift Accords?”
I really truly thought Gideon was going to haul off, and punch Qyll. His fists balled up so hard, they went as white as his suit. He practically quivered with anger.
“Well of course, but she isn’t allowed… She can’t just…” Gideon waved his hands around at the demolished apartment. I half-expected him to say, “Curses! Foiled again!”
“While I apologize for any possible oversight or miscommunication, Miss Reddick is still prohibited from summoning Demons.”
“She summoned nothing tonight. Except me.”
While they bickered, my cell phone tweeted. I could tell from the ringtone that it was Charlie Bartley. “Pardon me while y’all argue bureaucracy, I’m going to answer this.”
I backed into the hall outside where it was quieter.
“She’s going to do something big,” Charlie’s voice sounded strange.
“How do you know?”
“She told me. She said she’s going to raise Hell in the name of our one true God tonight. She locked me in a closet. She didn’t know I had my cell phone in my pocket. Oh, Lord save her. Jesus help us.” He moaned.
“Wait, okay, calm down. Just calm down. Where did she go? Do you know?”
“You have to hurry. They’re at the conservatory site.”
“Do I need to come get you out of the closet?”
It was as though he hadn’t thought that far. “Yes. That would be good.”
“I’m on my way.”
God, I was tired. But tired would have to wait.
Qyll and Gideon were in the living room, a tense silence between them.
“I see I was a little hasty in my accusations,” Gideon said, his expression sour. “I’ll just be on my way. Call if you need anything.” And he vanished before anyone could say anything else.
EMS had loaded March up and taken him to the hospital. As they wheeled him out, crying, he gave me a little wave.
“Hey, Q, we’ve got to scoot. Charlie Bartley is the closet―no, not that way―and then I have to go stop Ann from raising a golem army. Tonight.”
Someday, I will say something and Qyll will react. He will gasp, or clutch his chest. Or his mouth will drop open. Today was not that day.
“We’ll ride together.”
I banged on the Bartleys’ door.
When there was no answer, I tried the cell and it went straight to voicemail.
“Perhaps there is another entrance?”
All the doors and windows were locked. “We are losing time, Q. I’m going to break in.” I had the patio sliding door open with a quick spell before Qyll got a breath in. “After you.” I grinned.
“Charlie?” I went from room to room, opening closets. I heard Qyll doing the same. “Check downstairs,” I hollered. “Can’t find him here.”
I tried the cell phone again… and heard it ringing. I found it on the kitchen table.
Qyll and Dorcha appeared to see me staring dumbly at the two phones in my hands.
“Tessa, he’s not here. Are you sure you understood correctly?”
“Charlie called me from this phone. The number matches my caller ID. I came. He’s not here. He must be at the conservatory.”
“But why leave the phone?”
“Can you hear that?” I looked up at him. “That noise?”
He shook his head and glanced at Dorcha. “I don’t hear anything.”
I put my hand to my ear and nodded. “I can hear the pieces falling into place. Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”
“We will cut through Otherwhere,” Qyll said.
“What do you mean cut through Otherwhere? I’m not sure I’m welcome there right now.”
Dorcha bumped her head against my hand. I looked down at her. “You want to go, I suppose. Fine.”
“We shouldn’t waste time,” Qyll said.
What if we got stuck or lost in Otherwhere? Then again, we couldn’t afford to let Ann Bartley carry out her plan, the consequences would be… not good. And it would be faster this way.
“Ok, but let’s go outside.”
The evening was warm and pleasant. We stepped into the growing gloom behind the house, walked down near the trees in back.
“Shall I?” He raised a hand and felt the air, searching for a thin spot. About three feet in front of us, he found it. I wasn’t surprised. The Veil was like a curtain made of wet toilet paper these days. One little poke, and you have a hole the size of a barn. “After you.” Qyll gestured through the passage. I had forgotten how crossing into Otherwhere is like walking through a hallway full of cool, invisible jello. You can sort of see ahead, but it’s very dense air, magic fog pressed together, slightly resisting your passage.
The air on the other side was frigid. As we emerged into an expanse of purple snow, I decided this was as good a time as any for my spiel.
“Qyll, I think I figured it out. Some of it, anyway. After I gave the alithis to that golem at March’s, it said a few weird things. Notably, that it was trapped here because there was no sacrifice. What if Ann has to make a sacrifice to bring the… Demon or whatever into her golem?”
Qyll stopped walking. “It would explain why she had trouble controlling the other golem experiments.”
“Exactly! I wonder if Cara Courtland killed her husband to make the spell work, and then accidentally offed herself, too? Or maybe that was Ann.”
He started walking again. “Who do you think she aims to sacrifice?”
This time, I stopped. “Charlie. I bet its Charlie.”
We walked in silence for a long time.
Dorcha bounded
along, her true nature obvious. The size of a very long-legged tiger, with hunting-machine muscles, she has her ears end in tufts, like a lynx, the fur of the blackest black, four rows of gleaming silver-white teeth, and silver claws. She rolled and cavorted in the snow.
“I’m glad someone is having a good time. Where are we?”
“It will be the fastest way.”
“You said that. Qyll. Wait. Wait up.” I grabbed his arm and made him stop. “Where is this?”
“We are in the Elfhame.”
“QYLL.”
He stopped again but did not face me.
“It will get us there. I promise. But we must be quick.”
“But this is your ‘hood, right? Your home?”
“It is close.”
“So we’ll be safe?”
He didn’t answer but instead strode off into the lavender twilight.
For Humans or Earth-born Others, it’s hard to find your way around Otherwhere. I was taught it should go like this: find (or make) a tear in the veil, pull it open, go inside, and always keep in mind your exact destination. It was stressed that one has to continue to focus on it in order to guide oneself to it. Things move in Otherwhere. You can’t quite go in and out the same place twice unless you’re extremely well-practiced. Qyll had never been to the conservatory site, but he had a good idea of where it was, so letting him guide us was the equivalent of letting a person who had seen a globe a few times lead you to Nairobi from Dallas via a labyrinth. Sort of.
Dorcha stopped playing, shook off the snow, and let out a long low growl, her tail switching.
“Right this way.” We trudged on through the lavender snow. By that, I mean it was snow that smelled of lavender and was pale purple. The fragrance wafted up as we walked.
“Elfhame is not, as the name might suggest, the precise home of the Elves, though Elves do live in this realm. Elfhame is the old Human word for ‘faerie home.’” It was like he was suddenly a guide for Otherworld Walking Tours. “There are many, many tribes, groups, villages.”
I looked up. The dark indigo sky was blank but for two moons.
Muddy Waters (Otherwhere Book 1) Page 21