Heck covered his ears with his hands, bending at the waist, stumbling backward. Tiff’s eye streamed water. She held on to the shotgun, but it drooped at the end of her arms. Her eye was shut tight against the magick boiling into the room, but the shotgun was still in her hands.
The keening grew, climbing a notch with every new syllable, brittle and shrill. Pins and needles were being driven into my eardrums. The nerve under my eye pounded like a double bass drum. Ahriman spat as he screamed out his spell, thick saliva running out of his mouth, drizzling across the front of his wiry beard. The air wavered as the spell built to a crescendo, intensifying, a fist closing around us.
I took one step toward him as the first corpse twitched.
It was a body lying just a few feet from where the warlock stood. It was a mangled, tangled wreck of a corpse, everything twisted around and in on itself. Ahriman’s spell soaked into it, poison into a sponge. It herked and jerked, rising to a crawling position. Beside it another body began to push itself up, rising from the pile.
Movement swept through the carpet of corpses that littered the floor. The dead began to stand. In a few seconds there would be a wall of zombies between me and Ahriman. His spell kept growing, kept pushing against me. My skin crawled, his magick a creeping mildew across every exposed part.
The broom handle fell from my hand as I whipped out my gun. The room pulsed with magick around me, rippling reality. I was looking through air turned into a dim, shimmering screen.
Witchcraft pounded against me. More bodies pulled themselves up. Yellow spots blasted holes in my vision as I tried to draw a bead on the wizard.
I pulled the trigger as the world went dark.
The spell cut off with a choke, dropping out of the air like falling rain. The dead collapsed, puppets whose strings had been cut. Slamming into the floor, boneless as rag dolls. The carpet, soaked with their blood, splatted underneath them.
My vision snapped back into place with a ringing shock.
The warlock was pressed against the wall.
He stood for a second, steel-taloned hand clapped over a bleeding hole in his shoulder. His eyes were too big, white gleaming around black irises. They fluttered closed as he slumped and slid down the wall. His head lolled forward, hand dropping away to lie in his lap.
The warlock was out cold.
Getting shot will send you into shock.
Tiff stepped up, rubbing her head. “Holy shit. I thought my head was going to explode.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, the skull-splitting headache is fading.”
Now that the magick was gone, so was my headache.
Special Agent Heck straightened his tie. His hand was shaking. “I really hate magick.”
“I know how you feel.”
“What are you going to do with Ahriman?”
“Let the sumbitch bleed out.” I pulled my other gun. “We’ve got some more witch ass to put a boot in.”
18
I knew we were in trouble the second I jerked open the door of the theater auditorium. Magick spilled out in a pink mist that grabbed my gag reflex and tried to shake it to death. I had to choke down gorge as the spoiled milk and sugarcane stench slapped me across the face.
A cacophony of sound raced around us the second I broke the seal of soundproofing by throwing the door wide: screams high-pitched and shrill, growls rumbling through the air, rolling hideous laughter that cackled out in rises and falls, the cymbal crash of a spell being cast.
Guns out, I raced down the side aisle, hugging the wall. The auditorium had stadium seating, the edge of it rising up at a sharp angle. Over it the movie was stopped, white light stuttering against the screen in retina-burning white flashes. The edge of the seating dropped away with each step, revealing the scene in the center of the stadium. Halfway down, Athame flew up in a swoop to hover in midair.
She was in full devil-lady form: curling horns; red skin; big, leathery wings beating the air in a slow, casual way. The flashing light cut her in relief from the pitch-black like a hellish disco strobe. She looked whole, like she hadn’t taken a beating earlier tonight.
Dammit.
Athame’s attention was in the center of the stadium seating, not on us. She hadn’t seen us at all. Her head was thrown back as she laughed with satanic glee at whatever was happening out of my sight. It shook her whole body, from the tips of her curling horns to the bottoms of her hooved feet. The screeching cackle spread her flat chest wide and then contracted it in convulsive jerks of demonic humor. The pentagram was back, strapped across her chest and gleaming in the staccato light.
Staying low, I moved, sliding down the wall behind me, one short step at a time. I didn’t have to try to be quiet, but movement draws attention. Carefully. One step, pause, one step, pause. One eye pinned on the devil-witch hovering in the air, one eye trying to see what she was watching.
The edge of the seating dropped slowly, one tiny inch at a time. Each small step showed me a little more.
19
Selene stood on the back of a row of seats. The green dress flared around her. Pudgy little hands curled into knots held in front of her like she had something in her grasp. Her mouth was open and drawing in breath.
One step, pause, one step, pause. The edge of the seats were dropping. Showing more. I could almost see what she was focused on.
One more step.
Selene’s hands began to move apart. One more inch of open view. Selene spoke a word that cracked the air like a gunshot.
“Roztrhat!”
One more step and I had to watch as Selene’s spell tore Kenny the Were-possum apart in a shower of gore.
Blood arced up as the light from the projection booth went spastic. The red fluid clicked through the air in stopmotion, rising in a wet swirl like a liquid lasso. Slick, shiny masses hung suspended as the two halves of the Werepossum fell apart, dropping to the floor in a stutter of motion. The projection light snapped into a steady stream of illumination as a howl split the night.
A dog stood in the aisle next to the spot where Kenny the Were-possum fell. Hackles up, russet fur cut down her back in a sharp ridge from skull to tail. The howl closed into a deep growl that made her entire body vibrate. Long canines gleamed. Lips pulled back into a snarl.
Sophia.
Behind her were the three kids. The half-Were crouched behind her. He was wearing a red T-shirt and a pair of blue shorts. Short fur covered his arms and legs in stripes that alternated between russet red and honey tawny. Black talons flexed at the ends of tiny fingers and toes. Long hair hung around his chubby face in a mix of colors that matched his fur. His mouth hung open, full of teeth that were too big, too sharp.
His brother stood beside him on all fours, hackles raised like his momma’s. A thick mane of honey and russet fur swirled back from a leonine face that had a canine snout. A green T-shirt hugged his wide chest, the fur coming out of it striped to match his mane. Blue shorts hung around crook-shanked legs. From one of the openings a shaggy tail swished out, thick furred with a big splot on the end.
The third child was human. A blue T-shirt made his hairless arms and legs look even paler. Pudgy little fists were clenched, and his lips were pulled back in a snarl that matched the ones held by both his brothers. He stood, widelegged, chest thrown out in challenge. His hair was the same as his brothers, hanging around his chubby face in a thick, striped shag.
All four of the family had the same pair of blazing mismatched eyes: one crystal blue, one peat-moss brown.
Selene’s voice was sharp. She pointed a pudgy finger at Sophia. “Lay down, dog, or I will do to you what I just did to your defender.”
Sophia answered by hunkering lower, rearing back, settling close to the ground. Low and ready to spring. A bullet in a chamber.
“Give us the Trinity, bitch.” Athame swooped forward, diving toward the Were-dog. Sophia didn’t move as the witch flew close, staying between the witch and her children.
Athame t
hrew her hand out and spat a word. “Etarenicni!” Fire curled off taloned fingertips, scorching the air with a whoosh. Sophia leaped back in a flip. The fireball splashed the floor where she had stood, engulfing a row of theater seats that were behind the spot. The smell of burnt hair billowed up as flames singed Were-dog fur.
The witch drew back her other hand, mouth dropping to spell-speak again. Fire licked out of her palm.
I pushed off the wall behind me, moving forward, guns blazing.
20
The devil-witch jerked to the side as my bullets punched holes into her thick, leathery batwings. Canting to the left, she dropped like a stone.
Without breaking stride, I put a hand on the safety rail and vaulted over. From the corner of my eye I saw Tiff and Heck moving up behind me.
Tiff braced the shotgun on her shoulder. The black dress she wore disappeared in the darkness, making her look like a disembodied head and arms. Special Agent Heck had his gun out; the harsh light from the projection booth shined along the edges of his cheap suit, making the white shirt he wore glow.
Selene turned to face us without moving, spinning on the back of the seat she stood on. Full green skirts swirled out around her. “You!” Poison green eyes flashed. “You couldn’t stop us last time; you won’t stop us this time.”
“You should check with your pet warlock, lady. One down, two to go.”
Keeping both Colts pointed at her, I walked up the aisle, making my way toward Sophia and the kids. She had corralled them near the railing with her body, herding them down toward me.
Athame rose to her feet in a sharp unnatural movement, too fast to track. She shook her head, long blood-red hair whipping. Anger plastered across her transformed face, black lips pulled back, jagged teeth clenched, ebony eyes wide under a creased brow. Breath bellowed in and out of her as she hopped several rows of seats to land next to her mother. The light from the projection booth cut through the holes in her wings.
Magick welled up from her, mushrooming in a satanic billow. Inch-long spikes punched out of her boiled red skin, running up her arms and legs in double rows of pain. They were curved, barbed like wasp stingers. Drops of venom seeped from their needle-like tips. She pointed at me and they shook off, running like broken egg yolks across her skin. “That’s twice you’ve hurt me. Twice! There won’t be a third!”
“Wanna bet witch?”
Both trigger fingers twitched, blasting out a volley of hot lead. Tiff and Heck were a split second behind me, their guns pounding out a rhythm of death. Bullets and buckshot flew.
Time dilated around me, clicking into focus. My eyes tracked the projectiles cutting across space toward my enemies. The bullets were streaks of light cutting through the stuttering light of the projector. They notched forward a click at a time. The buckshot was a gray cloud of lead tumbling out like a jellyfish in the tide.
Athame turned away, one wing flung up like a shield. Selene didn’t look at her daughter; her eyes pinned on me as she spat a word. “Blokovat!”
The spell whipcracked across my power. It went from nonexistent to filling the room with one word. The theater seats between me and her tore free from their moorings with a screech. They spun into the air as if flung by a child. With a bang and a clatter, they slammed together in a wall between the witches and the bullets. Lead projectiles hit the chairs in a staccato. Stuffing flew as cushions were shredded by the onslaught. The metal backing held.
My guns locked back, clips empty. Time swooshed back into place. Special Agent Heck held his gun up, slide open, too, gun just as empty. Tiff slung the shotgun over her shoulder on its strap and started helping the kids through the railing behind me.
Sophia stood beside me, hackles raised, a stripe of bristly fur along her back. Her teeth glistened in the projector light. She was staring at the wall of chairs between us and the two witches.
My hands moved, hundreds of hours of practice stripped away any thought needed, dropping the empty clips. I replaced them with my last two full ones, slipping them in like familiar lovers coming together. While I did, my mind shook out my power, tossing it around like a net.
The death stench of magick mushroomed in my nostrils, yanking on my gag reflex like a hook in a fish. My power rolled, washing up against the wall of seats, crashing against a growing bubble of demonic power. I held it against the bubble, pushing hard. It pulsed, throbbing like a raw nerve.
Whatever the witches were doing, it wasn’t going to be good.
I tossed one of the Colts to Special Agent Heck. He caught it smoothly. Turning, my leg bumped Sophia, making her look up. The face was canine, but the eyes were human, one blue and one brown.
“Go. Get the kids out of here. They’re after them.”
Sophia nodded, the dip of her muzzle ruffling the fur along her neck. Turning, she slipped under the rail. Whipping beside her children, she gave them the quick once-over only a mother can. The sight of it flashed a memory in my head, spooling it out like razor wire.
My wife meeting the kids at the door from the school bus. Kneeling in front of them. Holding them both at arm’s length while she looked them over, making sure they were both whole. Safe. Her lips parting in a small smile as she realized they were.
STOP!
Grabbing the memory, I wadded it up, shoving it deep inside my mind.
Breathe.
In through the nose and out through the mouth.
Tiff ’s hand touched my arm, concern in her eyes. I handed her the other Colt. She took it, leaving her hand where it was. I smiled at her and nodded. I’m okay.
What I said out loud was, “Take Heck, Sophia, and the boys and get to the club. Tell Father Mulcahy what’s going on. Get safe. I’ll make my way to you when I am done here.”
Her head cocked to the side, tilting her good eye up. “What are you going to do?”
Behind me the magick in the air began to burn against my power. Not long. “Buy you some time. Now go, little girl. I’ll be along shortly.”
Her nails dug into my arm. The pain was sharp and immediate. Getting my attention, not trying to hurt me. She rose up on tiptoes, leaning against the railing between us. I bent down toward her. Our lips met. One warm, quick kiss, then she pulled back and turned to do her job. Gun up, she led the way down the hall toward the exit, Were-dog family in tow, Special Agent Heck bringing up the rear. They were out the door in just a second.
Tiff didn’t look back.
Good girl.
I turned, put my hands together, and cracked my knuckles. They popped, releasing tension along the bones of my hands. I closed them into fists just as the magick boiled over and the wall of bullet-ridden seats collapsed.
Hells to the yeah.
Time to rock and roll.
21
I was moving when the last chair clattered to the floor. Booted feet pushing off the carpet; legs making big strides to eat the distance. Stepping up on one of the chairs, I jumped. The floor fell away in a rush as I stretched forward. My body rose. I flew at Selene in a rush, slamming into her, shoulder driving into her body.
Her skirts flapped around us as we crashed together. My body weight drove her into the seats behind her and we tumbled end over end. I fell across the seats, rolling down the incline. My arms clamped around the witch so that she took the brunt of the fall, but it still felt like I was the guest of honor at a boot party. We clanged to a stop against the handrail at the bottom.
My ribs felt like I had been beaten with baseball bats. Air had been driven from my lungs in a hard squeeze. Selene was limp in my grip. Her eyes fluttered underneath a fall of hair shaken loose from its severe bun. I pushed her off me.
My hand closed on the handrail. I had to get up. Athame was still here.
Pain flared across my back. Ignoring it, I pulled, dragging myself up. Athame swooped down on me.
“Mother!” Deadly yellow eyes cut over to me. “I will flay the flesh from your bones!”
A black taloned hand lashed out, swiping at
my face. Throwing myself backward tipped me over a row of seats. Wind beat at me from her wings. I leaned back, slipping away from another razor-tipped strike. Pushing off with one leg, I twisted, snapping out my foot. Boot met jaw and the witch’s head jerked back, teeth clacking against each other. I lunged forward, fingers curling around one of the horns that curved around her face. The ridges were cold and hard.
My hand clenched as I drew it back, reaching far behind me. I stretched my chest open, muscles straining to their apex.
Synapses fired, contracting muscles in a chain reaction of violence like a bullet fired from a gun. My fist crashed down like lightning, knuckles thundering against her bone-heavy brow. Pain banged into my hand. I drew back, punching her again. She screeched and thrashed in my grip.
Hot agony spiked up my side. Her talons dug into my skin, snagging and ripping. Using both hands, I shook her by the horns. Her wings thwapped against each other. A cloven hoof scraped across my knee, the edge of it tearing my jeans. My knee went sideways, dropping me to the floor. I shoved Athame away hard, bouncing her off the rail.
Magick welled up around me. Hot, sticky corruption stinging my skin. Selene rose from the floor. Her dress was twisted. Thin black threads of hair hung around her snarltwisted, chubby face. Fury boiled out of her eyes, lighting them with witchcraft. I turned and scrambled up the seats, climbing over them to get away.
“Konzumovat!”
I clambered over the last row of seats, the only ones left from where the witches had spelled them into a shield, when her magick struck me like a bullwhip.
A giant lit match dragged across my shoulders. The rotten-egg stench of sulfur slapped around me. Lava heat fried my skin. The sizzle of bacon filled my ears. It was my skin that was burning.
The thin cotton of my shirt wadded in my fists. I yanked at it, tearing it, trying to get it off. The heat grew sharp. My shirt was snagged, trapped by the shoulder holster that lay across it. Microseconds ticked by, feeling like hot eternity before the damned shirt tore free.
Blood and Magick Page 8