Twisting, I swung the MAC-10 up and around, smashing the square metal gun into her chest. The jolt of it shuddered up my arm, clacking my teeth together. The vampire banged to a stop, crashing to the ground at my feet. I swung the submachine gun, pointing it at her face. Shoving power behind my words, I made them a command. “Stay. Down.”
Tendons stood like cables on Blair’s throat and arms as she fought to get up. The marks on her throat pulsed like a heartbeat. I realized they were in sync with my heartbeat. Smoke began to rise off her, undead flesh sizzling as it pressed against the holy ground. It smelled like rancid bacon. “What are you doing here? I thought you blew up with my club.” Anger trickle-charged through me at the thought of Polecats.
Blair swallowed, drawing a breath she didn’t need so she could talk. Her voice still had the molasses-thick Southern accent, but it was threaded with pain. “I don’t want to be here, Sh-Sh-Sugah, but this is where you told us to meet you.”
My hand swept around toward the people standing in the parking lot. My people. “I told them to meet me here. How did you get out of the club? I had you frozen on the bar when the . . .”
I stopped short. I had yelled for everybody to get out. Apparently that had included the bloodsucker at my feet. My mind tripped back to noticing she was gone off the bar as the magick that destroyed my club built in intensity. My eyes narrowed as something occurred to me.
“Do you have one of those orbs in your chest?”
Her hand slid up, fingers hooking the hem of the toosmall T-shirt that strained across her chest. She had to lift it up over the bottom swell of breasts that defied gravity between silicone and undead flesh. Below her sternum was a line of scar tissue. I concentrated, pushing my power at her. It slipped down the connection between us, swirling around it like oil on a cable. It took no effort for my power to sink inside her.
Satanic energy crackled at me like feedback. I could almost see the orb inside her chest like a smooth globe of malignant magick. It called to me, whispering in my head. Just one small nudge of my power and I could set it off. I could trip the switch and move on. It nestled under her heart, rocking slightly with each beat, a dark temptation.
Wait.
“Why is your heart beating?”
“It’s been doing that since we fought.” A pink tear rolled down her cheek, soaking into her hair. “It’s making my blood rush through my veins, filling my head. It’s all I can hear.”
A hand touched my arm. I looked over, the connection to Blair in my head like an echo. Tiff stood beside me.
“What’s going on, baby?”
“Weird shit.” My mind chewed on an idea. “I’ll fill you in when the night is over.” I stepped away from Blair, moving Tiff with me. “Stand up.”
Blair rose to her feet like she had been picked up by an invisible hand and set upright. A roil of rotten bacon smoke swirled from being trapped between her back and the consecrated ground. It made my eyes water and set Special Agent Heck to coughing.
She stood there, back to shifting from one foot to the other. “What are you going to do with me?”
I fished out my keys, my thumb pushing a button on the key fob. The trunk lid popped up with a dull thunk. I stepped over, lifting it up. “Get in.”
Blair came over, hotfooting like a barefoot kid on Georgia asphalt when the summer sun bakes down making the tarmac boil. She rolled inside. There was plenty of room for her. The Comet has a six-body trunk—you could fit six bodies inside with no problem.
Trust me, I know.
“Stay put until I let you out.”
She nodded, blond hair falling over her face. She rolled over on her side, pulling long spray-tanned legs up to her chest and curling into a fetal position.
I closed the trunk. “Let’s go.”
Special Agent Heck held up his hand. “Wait a minute.”
I stopped.
He pointed at the trunk. “You’re taking a vampire with us? One of the vampires who attacked us earlier?”
“She’s in the trunk, isn’t she?”
“And this vampire has one of those balls of explosive magick that blew up your club and almost killed us all inside her?”
“Yep.”
“And she just attacked me,” Boothe said.
I put my hands up. “Like it or don’t, this is what we’re doing. Now get in the fucking car.”
Special Agent Heck took a step toward the backseat. He stopped. “Do you at least have a plan?”
Tiff laughed. “Sorry, I forget how new you are to the group.”
Boothe stood, one leg in and one leg out of the backseat. “Even I know there’s no plan.” He slipped in, folding long legs as he sat beside Ronnie. She was facing forward again, holding a basket on her lap. A soft skritching sound came from inside it as her spiders jostled for position.
Special Agent Heck climbed in the other side. Tiff and I pushed our seats back together and fell into the car. Special Agent Heck spoke from the back. “I’d feel better if we had a plan.”
I looked into the rearview mirror.
“Where would be the fun in that?”
The Comet roared in agreement as I turned the key.
48
An hour of balls-out driving carried us a hundred miles away and about sixty minutes shy of dawn. I could feel the sun hanging below the horizon, coming, but not here yet. I can feel the rising and the setting of the sun in my blood. It pulls at me like the moon pulls the tides.
In this business, you damn well better learn the comings and the goings of the sun. It can mean the difference between winning and losing, between living and dying.
The sun is the greatest advantage humanity has going for it. It’s the thing that keeps the monsters from rising up and slaughtering us wholesale. We can walk in the light, we can hunt in the light. We go in at night, locking ourselves behind our thresholds and hoping that is enough to keep the monster outside the door.
Sunrise breaks the back of magick, wiping it away and starting the word fresh and clean.
I didn’t know when Selene and her crew were going to try whatever it was she had planned. Probably tomorrow night. They had a window of a few days to fall in the celestial convergence. I knew they were doing a Black Mass. It’s a major working and requires some prep time.
The Black Mass is the most unholy ceremony there is. It’s pretty much what it sounds like, a satanic version of Mass, full of blasphemy and bullshit. Those usually happen at midnight, which was hours gone. I looked at my watch. 4:41.
Had it really been less than nine hours since this night started?
It had been a long damn night. We were all loaded up on caffeine pills to keep us alert, the stimulant giving the night in my headlights a surreal, jittery feel to it. The colors passing by were either washed out or lurid in their intensity.
The road had been empty for the last half an hour, just the occasional truck on the other side of the divided highway, headlights flashing by like desolate will-o’-the-wisps. It felt like we were sitting still inside the Comet and the world was being dragged past us in a blur. The music on the stereo was a low, mournful blues rendition of a Hank Sr. song about the Battle of Armageddon.
It was a spooky little spiritual and the singer really drew out the harrow in the marrow that Hank Sr. brought to his original. The music was turned down, barely cutting through the roar of the big block engine that wrapped around us like a cocoon, insulating us from the thing we were going to do.
The exit came up on us in a rush at the speed we were going. I pushed the brake, spun the chain-link steering wheel, and slid sideways off the road. The hot rod bitched about slowing down with a whine of tire and a crackle of exhaust through the pipes.
I blasted through the Yield sign and onto the swayback country road off the exit. I kept our speed reasonable, the sound of the motor quiet enough now that we could talk.
I looked over at Tiff. She was slid down in her seat, legs disappearing into the darkness of the front floorb
oard. She sat still, calm and not moving except for her thumbnail. It was flicking the zipper tab of her jacket back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Not nervous, just burning off the caffeine jitters. She couldn’t see me looking at her, I was on her blind side.
I reached out and touched her leg, my fingers sliding over the firm muscle of her thigh. She turned and her smile was a quick, short burst on her pretty face.
I broke the silence. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m all right. Pretty amped up.” She looked down at her thumb and it stopped suddenly. “Still a little shocky about Kat.”
I gave her leg a squeeze. I didn’t say anything because there was nothing I could say, but I knew how she felt. I had the same scooped out spot inside my chest. Another hole bored into my heart next to the rest of them, punctures left by the loss of people in my life. Realization fell on me like a ton of bricks.
“You ever lost anyone before, little girl?”
“No, my grandparents died when I was a kid. I don’t even remember them, not really. My G’ma used to smell like oatmeal cookies, and my G’pa had these little wire glasses that were always crooked, but that’s about it.”
“Your parents are still alive?” I had never heard anything about them.
“They are. They live in Florida because of my mom’s job.” Her hand fell on mine, tightening on my fingers. “I haven’t really talked to them since we met. I wonder why that is.”
“It’s because you’ve been ass-deep in monsters little girl.”
“It’s not that.” Boothe leaned up from the backseat. “I’ve watched you doing this job. You found something that you’ve been looking for your whole life. This is what you are supposed to do.” His hand came up over the seat and patted her shoulder. “Soldiers don’t tell their family about the war. They don’t understand, they can’t, and it would only frighten them if they were told. It makes a distance between you and them because there’s a part of you that now they can never know.”
“That makes sense.” She smiled at the Were-rabbit. “It kinda sucks, but it makes sense.”
He slid back into the seat.
Special Agent Heck spoke up. “You are quite good at this, Miss Bramble. The O.C.I.D. could use someone like you in the agency.”
Tiff blushed, her skin darkening in the dashboard lights. The thought of her being offered a job doing this gave me a surge of pride that was immediately drowned in a swamp of worry about her out there without me next to her.
Hell, being with me had cost her an eye.
I pushed it all down as I wheeled the Comet onto the backcountry dirt road. Immediately the car was enveloped in a cloud of red dust cutting my visibility in half. Riding the brake, I slowed us even more. The car swerved left and right, bouncing us against the doors and each other. The rosary on the rearview mirror swung crazily. Rocks pinged off the quarter panels.
Dirt roads are rough, rain and wind cutting away the red clay we have for dirt into something resembling a cheese grater. This one had gotten worse since the last time I had driven on it. The pine trees were still thick on the edges of the road, and bushes had grown wild, hanging out and slapping against the windshield.
After several minutes the road straightened under the wheels, spilling us out into a clearing.
The world opened up as the pine trees stopped abruptly. We were in front of a set of hills that the road cut between, swinging back and forth as it climbed. The moon was gone this close to dawn, leaving the sky dark, the only illumination from the brightness of the Comet’s headlights.
Last time this space had been filled by a broken trailer park. Single-wide trailers had dotted the hills, broken and washed out from being baked in four decades of harsh Southern sun. They had housed an army of vampire slaves, keeping them safe from that hated sun.
It looked like a tornado had come through.
The trailers had been torn apart and scattered like broken toys in the wrath of an angry child. Trash littered the ground, cheap plywood furniture, shredded insulation fluttered in the night breeze like cotton candy. Big chunks of manufactured homes were strewn across the road, blocking us from driving any farther. The abandoned cars, rusted out hulks of twisted metal and broken glass, were now lined along the ridge, forming a fence across the top of the hill. The taint of magick thrummed in the air.
This had been done on purpose.
I shifted the Comet into Park, killing the engine. Grabbing Durendal and pulling the door handle swung the door out and away. I stood, moving aside so Boothe could clamber out. Tiff was already outside the car, stretching lithe arms over her head and shaking them out to loosen up. Special Agent Heck stepped out, pulling on his jacket, settling it on his shoulders. Ronnie came out holding her basket. She was moving smoothly, but stiffly, spine straight as an arrow, every motion precise and controlled. It took me a second of watching her to realize she was moving like my friend Charlotte, Were-spider and mother of the ghost spiders that were bonded to Ronnie.
Durendal hung heavy on my left side, leather straps creaking as I pulled them tight. The hilt jutted forward on my hip. On the other side I hooked in a leather contraption that had a mess of thin straps. It held a huge crucifix. The cross was made of silver, covered in a delicate filigree. The figure of Christ that hung on the face of it was masterful, the carver using an attention to detail that let you see every line of agony and every drop of sweat on the representation of the suffering of our Lord. The end caps on each of the four arms had small, polished pieces of ivory that weren’t ivory at all. They were the teeth of St. Peter, the very first Pope. Along the back of the crucifix was an inscription: HEXE AUFGABEBRECHER.
The Witch Breaker.
I was hoping tonight it would live up to its name.
Under my arm hung an old-ass Colt .45 1911 that Father Mulcahy had given me. The steel was gunmetal blue paired with well-worn cherrywood grips. It was a sweet gun. It felt like something that had sentimental value to the good Father, but I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell, and it didn’t matter at the moment. It was a damn fine pistol that fired a big-ass bullet, which I had plenty of. It rode under my left arm in the spring steel holster. Both knives were still tucked in the shoulder rig, handle down for quick draw.
I walked over to the trunk, punching the key fob. It sprang open with a click. Blair still curled around herself, knees to chest. The connection between us hummed to life the second I saw her. Her hand flashed, sweeping blond hair off her face. A big blue eye rolled up at me.
“Get out.” In a flash she was up, out, and standing on the ground next to me. Reaching in the trunk, I spoke to her over my shoulder. “Stay right there.”
Moving stuff around in the trunk, I found a few things I thought we could use. A stun baton, a machete made of razor-sharp spring steel, a silvered bowie knife that was damn near a foot long with a palm-wide blade, and a jar of blessed salt. I passed them around, keeping the stun baton for myself after making sure it still had juice. A flick of the On switch arced a purple blue spark between the contact posts. Yahtzee.
Tiff took the machete, strapping it around her waist so that it slung low on a rounded hip. Boothe tucked the bowie knife in his belt. I handed the jar to Special Agent Heck.
“What is this?”
“Blessed salt. Breaks enchantments, repels the supernatural. It’ll probably come in handy.”
He shook the jar. The salt wisped around the glass. “Seems a little unwieldy.”
I held my hand out for the jar. He put it in my palm. It was a mason jar, thick clear glass topped with a screw-on metal lid. Pulling a knife, I jabbed the point into the lid seven or eight times, twisting it as I did, making little ragged holes. I handed it back to him. He looked at it, looked at me, and cocked up an eyebrow in question.
“Now it’s a salt shaker.”
He nodded, flicking his wrist quickly from side to side once. Grains of salt scattered on the ground at his feet. A few of them bounced up, hitting Blair’s bare feet. T
hey began to smoke and dissolve, sinking into her undead skin. She hissed in pain but didn’t move from where I told her to stay put.
“Sorry,” he said.
I felt bad for Blair. “Shake them off,” I told her.
Hold the fuck up. Did I just feel bad for a vampire? A bloodsucking fiend from hell? What was wrong with me?
She kicked dirt over her feet, wiping away the salt granules, sighing with relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve got a lot of work for you tonight. But we need to get a few things straight before this breaks off.”
She nodded.
I pushed my power into our connection. It pulsed between us and I felt a pull toward Blair, like a physical, gravitational thing. The marks under her jaw began to glow, pulsing in time with the heart beating in my chest. My voice was deep, authoritative. I made my words a command.
“Do not hurt anyone standing here with me. You are to fight at their side and save them if you see them in danger. To hear them command is to hear me command. You will help me save the children inside first, second to that you are to help me kill the witches and whoever or whatever they have working for them.” I leaned in, locking eyes with her and driving my power down that connection. It sank into her, a barbed hook that wouldn’t be easily removed. “Have I made myself clear?”
She nodded.
I took a deep breath and turned toward the line of cars at the top of the hill.
“Let’s go kill some witches.”
49
“What the hell is that place?”
We stood beside the rim of car bodies that had been twisted together like a wad of bread dough. Boothe’s finger was pointing at the church on the other side of them.
It was a small country church, the kind that dotted thousands of back roads in the South. It used to be a Baptist Church, but that didn’t matter. Baptist, Presbyterian, Methodist, hell, it could have been a snake-handling version of Pentecostal when it was in service.
Now it was a giant pit of blasphemy.
Blood and Magick Page 21