A street sign announced we had reached Andrew Young Boulevard. Judging by the sign’s location, the boulevard sliced off the southern chunk of the park, probably cutting straight through Centennial Plaza. Except no boulevard remained. The greenery grew wild, in full revolt against all things that pruned. Leafy branches hung over the path, their shoots lying on the pavement. Rose vines spread in thorn-studded tangles, binding the myrtles and evergreens into a solid mass that promised to leave no skin unbloodied. I’d need a chainsaw to get through there. A machete wouldn’t do it. And I didn’t even have a machete.
Witches: one. Kate and Co.: zero.
“We seem to be boulevardless,” I said.
“I could’ve informed you of that, had you bothered to inquire.” The vamp favored me with a ghastly attempt at a smile, sure to send any normal person to a therapist.
That’s right—the Casino was built on the lot of the old World Congress Center. If it weren’t for the fifty-foot trees blocking the view, the sky would be gleaming with its silvery minarets. The People and the witches were practically neighbors. Hell, they probably wandered over to borrow a cup of sugar from each other.
“There is an entrance up ahead.” The vamp scuttled north, toward Baker Street. The sun chose that moment to strip off a small cloud, filling the world with golden sunshine and setting the vamp’s wrinkled purple hide aglow.
“There is just something so wrong about this,” I mumbled.
Derek answered with a light growl.
I trudged along the green wall. The air smelled of flowers. Birds chirped.
The greenery dipped. A narrow path burrowed into the green, twisting to the left, like a dim tunnel to the heart of the wood.
Derek raised his nose and inhaled deeply in the manner of the shapeshifters. “Water.”
I strained to recall the layout of the park. Baker Street wasn’t that far. “Must be the Water Gardens.”
The tunnel lay waiting, like an open mouth. Ghastek’s vamp edged closer to it. Derek and I dismounted and tied our horses to a twisted rhododendron. I looked into the tunnel. No time like the present.
“Any ideas on how to approach this?” I asked the vamp.
“None whatsoever,” Ghastek said.
I sighed and ducked into the tunnel.
Chapter 15
I had conquered the first ten feet of the path when the magic hit. It rocked me like a shotgun blast. My breath escaped my lungs in a startled cry, my heart squeezed itself into a hard fist, and I bent over, cradling my chest. The pain released me in a heady rush of power that spread through my arteries, into my veins, into the vessels, into the capillaries, until my whole body tingled with magic. The exhilaration claimed me and lifted me up, as if two wings had thrust from my back.
Around me, deep within the green, flowers opened, glowing stars of white and pale purple. The branches rustled. The vines slithered. An amalgam of scents spiced the air: sweet and honeyed, reminiscent of a rose.
Derek padded out of the green gloom, silent and stealthy on velvet feet and looked at me with wolf eyes from a human face. I fought an involuntary shiver.
The vampire crouched on the side of the path, snug against the greenery, shivering, head tucked to its chest.
The bloodsucker raised its head. Its eyes burned bright red. The vamp mouth opened but no sound issued forth. It showed me its fangs, two yellowed killing teeth. I showed it my saber. I only have one tooth, but it’s a lot longer than yours and it will turn the stringy meat on your bones into pus.
“No need for alarm,” Ghastek said. “He’s quite docile.”
The vampire slunk from the path, arched its back, and brushed against my leg.
It took every shred of nerve not to recoil. “If you do that again, I’ll kill it.”
“I was always curious about your aversion to the undead. What is it that upsets you so much?”
“A vampire is a walking corpse. It oozes undeath that makes the living want to vomit, it has no mind, and left to its own devices it would slaughter until there was nothing left to kill. And then it would cannibalize itself. What’s there to like, Ghastek?”
And most of all, Roland had made them. They were his creation.
“Their usefulness far outweighs their few shortcomings,” Ghastek said.
I motioned with my saber. “In that case, please go first. Let’s benefit from some of that usefulness.”
Ghastek took the lead, and we went down the path, single file, vampire, a man on the verge of becoming a beast, and me, bringing up the rear.
The canopy dipped so low, I had to nearly crouch. I scooted through, the twigs snatching at my braid, and finally emerged into the clearing.
Tall pines rose straight and smooth like the masts of a gargantuan underground ship. Their branches stretched to each other, filtering the light, muting the sun to a pleasant green gloom. The ground was thick with decades of autumn, and spongy pine needles gave lightly under my weight. The air smelled of moisture. A gentle murmur of water spilling over man-made waterfalls emanated from the left.
The vamp leaped onto the nearest pine and perched twelve feet off the ground, its body nearly perpendicular to the pine’s trunk.
“Two o’clock,” Derek whispered.
Beyond the pines lay a sunlit glade, sectioned by neat rows of herbs. Between us and the glade stood a woman.
She was on the heavy side, built solid and thick, but without flab. A plain black dress hung off her shoulders, its hem brushing the ground. Her thick arms matched the color of the pine straw. A mask of beaten iron hid her features, a round stylized face with thick locks of hair radiating from it like the sun’s corona. On second glance, those weren’t sun rays. Sun rays didn’t come with scales and fanged mouths.
A Gorgon Medusa mask. My quip about Medusas in the Honeycomb Gap was coming true. Me and my big mouth. Next time I would imagine a warehouse full of fluffy bunnies instead.
“I’m a representative of the Order,” I said. “I’m investigating the disappearance of the Sisters of the Crow. This is my associate.” I nodded at Derek. “This is my other associate.” I nodded at the vampire. “I request to speak to the Oracle.”
The woman said nothing. Moments ticked by, like falling pine needles, one after another. In ancient Greece, Gorgon Medusa could turn a man to stone with her gaze. I had a nice big pine to my left. If that mask left her face, I’d make a break for it. Perseus, who finally chopped off Medusa’s head, had a mirror shield. I had nothing. Even Slayer’s blade was opaque, so no dice there.
She turned and strode into the sunshine. I followed.
* * * *
The cobbled stones of the path veered left and right in a gentle curve. The witch’s black dress swept them clean as she moved. Her mask flared to cover the back of her head like some bizarre motorcycle helmet and all I could see was a narrow strip of her dark skin right above the neckline.
A vast herb garden stretched on both sides of us; flowers and grasses were separated in rows, bordered by a dense evergreen hedge in the distance. Basil, yarrow, mint, brilliant red poppies, yellow cornflower, fuzzy bush clover, white umbrellas of elderberry…They never needed to leave the premises to look for wild plants. Most covens used the same herbs in their rituals. Very convenient when the herbs grew right by the gathering place.
My memory claimed that there was a big grassy lawn somewhere here, but beyond the herbal field rose trees, massive dogwoods and oaks tinseled with Spanish moss. The trees looked entirely too old to have grown naturally. I couldn’t recall how I knew the lawn had been there, but I remembered it. And the fountains. Many water jets shooting from the ground.
And a woman. A very tall woman who laughed a lot. Her face was a fuzzy blur in my memory.
Derek wrinkled his nose. I glanced at him.
“Animal,” he said. “Odd.”
“What kind?”
“Not sure.”
The trees parted before us, revealing a hill sitting in the middle of a large clearing.
More of a kurgan, actually, rising straight up out of the herbs, like a cap of a colossal mushroom. Kudzu and grasses blanketed the hill in a green shroud, but at the very top the bedrock broke through: smooth, polished dark gray marble, tinted with swirls of malachite and flecked with gold.
If I had a marble dome that pretty, I doubt I’d let it get overgrown like that.
The Medusa impersonator circled the hill and stopped. We stopped, too. Ghastek sent the vamp up onto the hill and it perched among the kudzu like some gaunt ghoul.
Derek sneezed.
“Bless you.”
He sneezed again, pulled a canteen from his belt and washed his nostrils out.
The guide waited. We stood with her. A light breeze rippled through the tree branches. Birds sang. The sun, highly amused by our presence, did its best to barbecue us.
The vampire sprang straight into the air and landed ten feet behind us. Derek snarled. And sneezed again.
A deep rumble shook the ground. I backed away.
The grassy soil fell away in heavy slabs. The hill quaked and crept up, higher, higher. A colossal brown head emerged from underneath the kudzu, the flesh hanging from it in wrinkled folds. Two eyes stared at me, black and shining like two giant chunks of anthracite.
A tortoise.
I quested: not a shiver of magic. No scent of burning grasses associated with illusion. It was an actual living tortoise.
The curve of the gargantuan mouth widened. The jaws opened and a black maw gaped before us. I braced for a wave of turtle breath, but no discernible scents emanated from the mouth. The mother of all tortoises rested her chin on the grass and held the pose.
Okay, now I’d seen everything.
Our guide bowed her head and pointed into the tortoise.
“In there?”
She nodded.
“You want us to go into the tortoise?”
Another nod.
“It’s alive.”
Another nod.
“No.” Derek sneezed again.
“I must say it’s a bit irregular.” Ghastek’s voice vibrated with excitement. It’s easy to be deliriously happy about investigating something, when you’re in no danger of being swallowed.
I glanced at the vamp. “How fast can you rip it apart if it eats us?”
“The shell is quite thick. We’d have to exit back through the neck. If it withdraws its head, we’ll have to carve through a lot of flesh.”
“In other words, if it eats us, we’re screwed.”
“Crude but accurate.”
I faced the guide. “Are you coming with us?”
She shook her head.
Nice plan. Take the gullible outsiders, walk them around for a bit, then feed them to the giant tortoise. The tortoise is full, the outsiders are dealt with, and everybody’s happy.
“Derek, what do you smell?”
He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and doubled over in a sneezing fit. My werewolf was allergic to tortoises. Why me?
“Anything sour? Animal breath?”
He shook his head. “Water. And flowers.”
I pointed my blade at the guide. “If it eats us, I’ll kill it, and then I’ll find you.”
The guide nodded again. She didn’t take a step back and flee in horror. Perhaps I just wasn’t scary enough. Maybe I should invest in some horns or fangs.
“I’m going in. You two are welcome to stay outside.” I bent my back and took a step into the tortoise’s mouth.
Chapter 16
The tongue gave a bit under my feet. Like walking on a saturated sponge. Ahead a deeper blackness indicated the opening of the throat. I bent lower to clear the roof of the mouth and headed for it.
Behind me Derek sneezed.
“Decided to come after all?”
Sneeze. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The throat sloped gently, its bottom flooded with a murky liquid. Long strands of what looked like algae hung from the top of the throat-tunnel, dripping more liquid. Hopefully it wasn’t acid. It didn’t smell any different from the ordinary pond water, a touch fishy. I pulled a throwing knife, stretched and dipped the tip into the water. No discoloration. I touched the wet blade. My finger didn’t melt. Very well.
I stepped into water, slipped, and landed on my butt. Why me?
The vampire scuttled past me, throwing me a look over its shoulder. “As always, a picture of refined grace.”
“Shut up.”
My boots were full of tortoise throat spit.
The vamp took a step and vanished under the water.
I scrambled to my feet.
The vamp’s head reappeared. “A bit deep through here,” Ghastek warned.
Ha! Served him right.
The water came up to my waist. I waded through the tunnel in the gloom, the quiet splashing of the vampire ahead the only guide as to direction. Derek’s sneezing finally stopped.
The tunnel turned. I splashed through and stopped.
I stood in a shallow pool, among a dense blanket of lily pads. Cream-colored lilies glowed on the water.
An enormous dome lay before me. High above, at its very top, the carapace became transparent, and pale light filtered through, highlighting the translucent ridges of the tortoise shell. The walls darkened gradually, clear at the top, then green with the colors of the grasses and kudzu sheathing the shell from the outside, and finally deep black and green marble. Large rectangles had been cut within the walls, each with its own glyph etched in gold leaf and a name. The arrangement was strikingly familiar, but so unexpected, it took my brain a moment to recognize it.
I stood in a crypt.
A small noise made me turn. The pool ended a few feet in front of me, and beyond it, across the expanse of tortoise shell floor, just past the edge of light, rose a rectangular platform. On the platform waited three women.
The woman on the right could’ve easily qualified for a center spot in a five-generation family portrait: withered, gaunt, frail. She had seen seventy some time ago. Her thin hair surrounded her head like a nimbus of fine cotton. The black silk of her gown served only to accentuate her age. But her eyes stabbed me with sharp, predatory intelligence. She sat ramrod straight, poised on a heavy chair that was more a throne than a common seat. Like an aging raptor, old but ready to strike at the first hint of blood.
The woman next to her was barely older than Julie. She reclined on a small Roman-style sofa. Black silk streamed from her in folds and curves, so much of it that the fabric threatened to drown her. Sallow, almost translucent against that silk, she rested her head on her bent arm. Her cheekbones stood out. Her neck was barely thicker than my wrist. By contrast her blond hair fell from her head in twin braids, luxurious and thick.
The last woman sat in a rocking chair, knitting an unidentifiable garment from brownish yarn. She looked like she had sucked up all of the flesh the other two lacked. Plump, healthy, with her thick brown hair braided, she watched her knitting with a knowing half smile.
Maiden, mother, and crone. How classic. Double, double, toil and trouble?
I looked above them, to where a large mural darkened the wall. A tall woman towered above the platform, drawn in a simple but sharp style, the kind a genius child artist might employ. Three arms rose from her body: the first held a knife, the second a torch, and the third a chalice with a tiny snake winding about it. To the left of her sat a black cat and a toad. To the right lay a key and a broom.
Before the woman sat a huge cauldron, positioned on the intersection of three roads. Black hounds ran across the walls in both directions, all facing the cauldron.
The Oracle worshipped Hekate, the Queen of the Night, the Mother of all Witches. Although known by her Greek name, she was much older. Her worship stretched through two millennia, its roots buried in the fertile folkloric soil of Turkey and Asia. The Greeks had too much respect to ignore her ancient heritage and her seductive power. They made her the only Titan Zeus had permitted into his pantheon, partially because he had fa
llen in love with her. She was the goddess of choice, of victory and defeat, of knowledge magical and medicinal, the guardian of the boundary between spiritual and mundane, and the witness to all crimes against women and children.
Underestimating her Oracle would prove extremely unwise.
I felt Derek behind me, waiting. The vampire had left the pool and crouched on its rim. I bowed.
The crone spoke. “Approach.”
Slowly I crossed the water. My feet found stone steps and I emerged onto the floor.
“Closer,” the crone said.
I took another step and felt the edges of a spell lying in wait. I put my foot down. Derek stopped too, but the vampire advanced past me, oblivious.
The crone thrust her hand at us, fingers rigid like claws. Chalk lines slid from under the stones as if blown by errant wind, and I found myself locked in a circle of glyphs. Ahead the vampire fell, caught in an identical trap. Derek growled and I didn’t have to look to know he was captured, as well.
The crone smirked.
I probed the spell. Strong, but breakable. Should I stay in the circle out of respect or should I break out? Staying in would be a polite thing to do. Breaking out would likely provoke them, but would they deal with me if they could keep me pinned?
“Release me,” Ghastek’s voice echoed through the dome. “I’ve come here in good faith.”
The crone stabbed her hand to the right. The circle slid, dragging the vampire within it and crashed into the wall with a harsh thud. The crone’s eyes lit up with arrogant satisfaction. Well, that settled it.
“This is an outrage.” The vampire sprung to its feet.
“Silence, abomination.”
The circle slid to the left. Ghastek tried to run, anticipating the direction but the chalk tripped him and pulled him across the stones. She was enjoying herself way too much. She didn’t chant, so it had to be a preexisting spell. If I could have sensed at least the type of magic she was using, I might have gotten some idea where to look for the spell, but locked within the glyphs, I couldn’t feel a thing outside the circle.
Derek sat down, cross-legged, and settled to wait it all out.
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