“During the great tribulation, that period of chaos and immense suffering, the gates of Tartarus, the pit of hell, will be opened, and the Grigori unleashed once again upon the world.”
“How will they be opened?”
“If we knew that, we might know how to stop them.”
“And that would never do,” I muttered. “Heaven forbid that we’re one step ahead of the bad guys instead of one step behind for a change.”
“Everything will work out. Have faith.” Her lips curved and she glanced at Sawyer. “I plan to.”
Carla was right. Faith was a big part of our arsenal. If we didn’t believe in the promise that we would eventually win this war, it was likely the federation wouldn’t survive.
“What will the Grigori do when they’re released?” I asked.
“A clear sign of the end times will be when the fallen angels once again mate with man and produce a legion of Nephilim.”
Legion. Another word for army. Swell. We were already outnumbered. What in hell was I going to do when there was an army marching against me? I guess I’d just have to make sure that didn’t happen.
“So you only become a werewolf when you descend to the underworld to fight the Grigori?” I asked, and Carla nodded. “That happen a lot?”
“In my lifetime, not at all.” Her smiled faded. “But I can feel it coming.”
“You can feel it?”
“Can’t you? There’s a storm waiting just over the horizon.”
I glanced at the window, remembering the roiling clouds in the west and Ruthie’s words. “Literally or figuratively?”
“Both. When the end of days approaches, the weather reflects the chaos that threatens the earth. In the past few years, the weather has been very unruly.”
“Global warming,” I murmured.
“Can’t explain all of the strange occurrences. Certainly the thousands upon thousands of broken temperature records, the melting of the polar ice cap, the extensive flooding, can be rationalized that way. But what about the tornado in New York City, the cyclone in Iran, the snow in South Africa? And, of course, Katrina.”
“Katrina? You’re blaming that on the approach of Doomsday?”
“What else should I blame it on?”
“Don’t you think building a city below sea level is kind of asking for it?”
“Except they’ve never gotten ‘it’ before. How many hurricanes have shifted at the last minute and missed them.’ How many times has New Orleans been threatened with extinction and gotten nothing but a gentle rain? It’s always been theorized in my circles”—which I interpreted to mean witch circles—“that the magic there is what kept the city safe.”
“Magic,” I repeated. “Voodoo?”
Carla nodded. “Voodoo is all about balance, and obviously the world’s become extremely unbalanced. I don’t think they were able to keep things stable.”
“You’re blaming Katrina on a lack of stability brought about by the failure of voodoo magic?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
I could quote statistics, if I knew them, but it wouldn’t do any good. Carla believed the weird weather was a portant of Doomsday, and who was I to argue?
Doomsday would be back. All I could do was try and stay alive long enough for the federation to replenish their ranks so they’d be able to fight. That I’d be dead when all this happened didn’t seem so bad anymore.
“Were you born with magic or is it something you …”—I spread my hands—“learned later?”
Carta’s smile returned. “What you’re really asking is if I took my magic?”
There was another way to become a witch—the way Sawyer’s mother had become one—by killing someone you loved. When I’d called her an evil spirit bitch, I’d actually been practicing restraint.
“Did you?” I asked.
“Black magic is taken. White is given.”
“Still not answering my question.”
“My mother gave me her magic, through her love, by giving me life. Because life is magic, isn’t it, Elizabeth?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. That was just too much Susie sunshine for me, especially when the cheery point of view was coming from someone who looked like the latest advertisement for the Broadway production of Wicked.
Sawyer, who’d continued to sit at attention staring at Carta, growled without taking his eyes off her.
“Well, honestly,” I said to him, “life’s magic? That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all the answer you’ll get,” Carta murmured. “I am a good witch and I am a werewolf.”
“Like him,” I said.
“No.” Carla smoothed her ancient hand over his head in a gesture both tender and slightly erotic, though how it could be, I wasn’t quite sure. “He is a skinwalker—more than a werewolf, and much, much more than a witch.”
“Really?” I turned my gaze in Sawyer’s direction, while Carta played with his ears. I couldn’t believe he was allowing that.
“You’d like me to remove his curse?” Carla asked.
I jerked my eyes back to hers. “What?”
“He’s cursed. I can see it in his aura.” She waved a hand over his head in a circular motion. Sawyer watched the movement, his snout making tiny circles, too.
“You can remove curses?”
“What do you think a bewitchment is, Elisabetta?”
I’d been thinking in terms of jewelry—the amulet, my turquoise—not in terms of people. I started to get excited. Having Sawyer at full power—as a man and as all of his beasts—on the loose in the world, no longer confined to Navajo land, just might turn things around with the woman of smoke.
At the least, it would really piss her off.
CHAPTER 16
Ruthie had to have known that Carla could de-curse Sawyer, which was probably why she’d insisted I bring him along, but why hadn’t she just told me the truth?
Because the rules on what she could tell me and what she couldn’t were kind of wanked.
“What did you come here for, if not for him?” Carla asked.
“This.” I removed the amulet from my pocket.
Her gaze sharpened, and she snatched it from my hand. “An amuletum. To protect from trouble. The inscription is Latin and reads, ‘Hidden is the face of evil.’”
It certainly had been.
“Where did you get it?”
Quickly I told her about the Naye’i, who she was, what she’d done.
“Only a strega could have created this,” she murmured.
The strega had bewitched the amulet. Hadn’t seen that coming. But if he’d had the power to keep me from seeing what he was and what he was up to, then why hadn’t he?
Because he’d wanted me to come to him; he’d meant to make me his concubine queen.
Once again, so glad he was dead.
“Why are you certain a strega created it?” I asked.
“For such a bewitchment, a very powerful witch is needed. To bind the magic requires bathing the amuletum in the blood of one who craves blood.”
“A vampire.”
“Certain spells, certain amulets and the like, are native to certain types of witches. Witch, plus vampire, plus Latin.” She spread her hands. “Strega. Where is the witch now?”
My eyes met hers. “In hell, I assume.”
“Excellent.” She nodded once. “That saves me a trip.”
My lips curved. I liked her.
“What about the Naye’i?” she asked.
“Could be anywhere.”
Carla sighed. “They’re like that.”
“Can you remove the spell?”
“I’m the only one who can.” I lifted my brows, and she continued. “Balance, Elisabetta. An evil Italian witch placed the curse—”
“So only a good Italian witch can remove it.”
“Precisely.”
And since the strega was no longer with us, the woman of smoke might have a tough time getting her tentacles on ano
ther.
One problem down, three or four hundred to go.
“You’ll remove the spell now?” I asked.
“Now?” She glanced at Sawyer, who cocked his head. “But what about—”
“The amulet first, please.”
Sawyer could remain a wolf for a little while longer, but the amulet was bugging me. With my luck, the woman of smoke would appear and not only take the copper medallion back but kill the benandanti, as well. If the amulet became just a necklace, there’d be no reason for any of that.
“All right,” she said. “Come with me.”
Carla headed toward the rear of the house. Sawyer following after. I had to hurry to keep up. She moved pretty well for an old hag.
At the farthest end of the hall, she opened a door beneath the stairs. I reached her just as she began to descend. Hesitating, I stared down the shadowed cement staircase, which disappeared into a chilly gloom.
It was never a good idea to go into the basement. Legions of teen scream queens learned this lesson every Halloween in Technicolor across the silver screens. However, what choice did I have? I could stay upstairs and wait, but then I’d never know for certain if she’d done what I’d asked.
Besides, I wanted to watch.
Sawyer had already trotted downward in her wake. He didn’t seem at all spooked by the idea of serial-killing basement murderers. But Sawyer didn’t own a television; he’d probably never entered a movie theater in his life.
Still, Sawyer knew about evil. He’d been born of it.
So either Carta was truly a good witch and the basement was just a basement or Sawyer planned to tear her into itty-bitty bloody pieces so that no one would ever find her.
The thought didn’t even bother me. And that it didn’t should really bother me. I’d come a long way from the cop I’d been, even farther from the bartender I’d become.
I went downstairs. The basement wasn’t just a basement; it was a laboratory.
Beakers, bottles, Bunsen burners lay scattered across several tables. Dusty books were stacked everywhere. Canning jars lined shelf after shelf, and they weren’t full of applesauce.
“Are those eyes’?” I blurted. As I did, I could have sworn one of them glanced at me.
I gave a squeak and stumbled backward, tripping over the last step and landing hard. Both Carta and Sawyer stared at me as if I were a foolish child who’d fallen in the mud.
“I don’t like eyes,” I murmured defensively. “Especially in jars.” Really, who did?
“Those are pickled onions, Elisabetta.” Carta flicked a hand at them dismissively.
Sure they were. When I glanced in that direction again, the “eyes” faced the wall, revealing only their onionlike white, round rears. All hints of humanoid awareness were gone, along with the pupils.
I narrowed my eyes on Carta, but she’d already moved to one of her workstations and laid the amulet on top. I left the jar of onion eyes behind to join her.
As I came closer, the air that brushed my cheeks became hotter and hotter. When I cleared the heavy table, I saw why. The entire inside wall of the basement consisted of a furnace. Maybe it was an oven. It definitely looked like something she’d stolen from Auschwitz.
I glanced at Carta as she hunched over the amulet. With the fire blazing merrily at her back, she’d make a good model for a poster of Hansel and Gretel, the Return.
“Do you bake down here?” I asked.
“You might say that. My kiln comes in handy for the disposal of just about anything. Or anyone.”
“Sawyer,” I murmured as I inched toward the stairs. I’d seen good guys go bad. Jimmy in particular. I didn’t really want to see it again.
Sawyer ignored me. I was tempted to grab him, but that would be the hard way to lose a finger or two.
Carla’s smile faded. Her brow creased. “Where are you going? I thought you wanted me to remove the bewitchment?”
“Go ahead.” I remained near the stairs, ready to run up at the first sign of trouble, or at least try. I had no doubt she could wave her hand and freeze me in my tracks, maybe even send a lightning bolt to drop me dead. If a lightning bolt would kill me. I wasn’t sure.
Carla picked up the amulet and, without another word, without a single deed, tossed it into the blazing furnace. Then she dusted off her hands and turned her attention to Sawyer. “You’re next.”
His mouth opened, and his tongue lolled out. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was smiling.
“Hold on,” I said, taking a step forward in spite of myself. “That’s it?”
I indicated the kiln, where the flames leaped ever higher, as if they were feeding off the amulet. I couldn’t see that a bit of copper would be all that combustible. Maybe the flames drew power from the magic.
The thought made me uneasy. Magic fire might be a serious problem.
“No spell?” I continued. “No eye of…”—I waved at the “onion” jars—“whatever? You just toss the thing into the fire? I could have done that.”
Carla raised a brow. “Are you benandanti?”
I could be—if I had sex with one.
I looked Carla up and down. I didn’t want to be benandanti that badly.
“Be grateful it’s dust,” she said.
I thought about it, then shrugged. “All right.”
Carla turned to Sawyer, who still stared at her as if she were the most fascinating being on the planet or perhaps as if he smelled Scooby snacks in the pocket of her black sack dress.
She began to chant. Italian? No, Latin. Always a good chanting language.
Energy zipped through the room. Sawyer looked as if he’d stuck a claw into a light socket. Every inch of his black fur lifted toward the ceiling. When I touched my own hair a spark of static electricity sizzled.
Carla’s pale, bony fingers seemed to glow silver against the dancing orange flames of the open oven-kiln. She made a motion, as if she were throwing something at Sawyer.
I expected him to fall down, rise up, shape-shift. Instead, Carla jerked with a pained cry, as if the power she’d tossed his way had been tossed right back, and she stumbled, then crumpled to the ground.
By the time I reached her, she was already struggling to sit up. As I knelt at her side, the ends of her hair glowed with the remnants of whatever had knocked her down. A singed scent hovered in the room. Her gown began to smoke where cinders had sparked, and she patted them out with absent but shaking hands.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, glancing at Sawyer.
He sat on his haunches, gazing at both of us with a wary expression in his gray eyes.
“I didn’t know,” Carla murmured.
“Know what?”
“He isn’t a breed.”
“He isn’t?” I asked, though I had been told that before. By Jimmy.
“He’s other,” Carla said.
“Other what?”
“Nephilim plus Nephilim creates something apart from both humans and monsters. Something that can never truly be either one.”
Sawyer continued to stare into my eyes.
“His father was a medicine man who wore the robe,’” I murmured. “An amateur. Not a Nephilim.”
“No?” Carla gained her feet, brushing away my offer of help. “You think that turning into an animal, even by use of a robe, is something humans can do?”
I could, but I wasn’t entirely sure how human I was.
“So he’s other,” I said. “So what?”
“They can’t be trusted.”
I let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “I knew that even before I knew what he was.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. He didn’t seem overly concerned about Carla’s observations or my lack of trust. Sawyer never seemed overly concerned about much.
“Breeds have power, but they’re more human than Nephilim,” she continued. “Those that are other, by combining two forces of evil, can become stronger than either one of them.”
“Which explains a fe
w things,” I murmured.
“If he were to go to his mother’s side …” Carla left the rest of the sentence unspoken.
“We’d be fucked,” I finished. “I know. So maybe you should remove the curse she placed on him. Might make him pledge everlasting devotion to our side, don’t you think?”
She laughed, that sound of pure joy, which made me think of Christmas trees and sugar cookies. “You have a lot of strange ideas, Elisabetta.”
“And you’re stalling,” I said. A thought occurred to me, one I didn’t like much at all. “Can you fix him?”
“Fix? No.”
I got a sudden pain in my chest. I’d have to continue to flail around alone, with Sawyer’s satanic mommy trying to kill me, and Sawyer of no more help than an extremely fast, very strong, really mean wolf could be.
I would die. But, thanks to the Naye’i, dying was nothing I hadn’t done before. I just wasn’t certain I could keep coming back from it.
“What she’s done to him,” Carla continued, “is too strong. Because he is not a breed, he’s drawn to that evil. It rails to him in a voice from his childhood. The only way to completely end this curse is to kill the one who cursed him.”
“Got it on my list. Right below ‘Find the bitch.’”
Sawyer sneezed. Carla cast me a disappointed glance, and I muttered, “Sorry.”
“I believe she is trying to discover how to open Tartarus, or if she already knows, then she is preparing to open it.”
I glanced at Sawyer. He blinked; so did I.
“Wait a second,” I said. “Tartarus is opened during the time of the great tribulation. The chaos that follows Doomsday.”
“Yes.”
“But I stopped Doomsday when I killed the strega.”
Carla’s sharp blue eyes met mine. “Does it seem to you as if chaos were interrupted?”
Well, it had. Sure, the seers I’d been in contact with had their hands full, but we were short on soldiers and long on demons.
“You didn’t know?” Carla asked.
“Know what?” I managed between clenched teeth.
“The strega was a minion, not the leader of the darkness. The leader of the darkness was—”
I cursed. “The woman of smoke.”
CHAPTER 17
Doomsday Can Wait Page 13