by Ким Харрисон
The jiggling of water against plastic drew my hand up, and fumbling, I found the container Trent was extending for me. I didn't bother wiping the top before I took a swig, and I grimaced at the unexpected taste of burnt amber. "Thank you," I said, then gave it back. "This is your water. From your pack. We have our stuff?" My eyes widened in the dark. "Do you have your light?"
I heard Trent shift his feet. "Broken. Yours, too. For the psychological effect, I'm sure, seeing as that's all they did, apart from putting the bands of charmed silver on us and dousing us in salt water."
"Yeah," I said, feeling wet and icky. "I figured that part out." Not bothering to search for my bag, I mentally catalogued what I had shoved into it. Nothing, really. And with the band of charmed silver around my wrist, I couldn't even light the candle. But then my eyebrows rose, and moving carefully, I felt the small of my back. My lips parted when I felt the cool plastic. They left me my splat gun? Pulse fast, I drew it, aiming where I had heard Al's voice. "Maybe," I said as I thumbed the safety off, "they don't think we're a threat."
"Maybe," Al said, "they don't care if we kill each other. You hit me with that, and I won't kill you when I get out, but just play with you. Until you die screaming."
My hand shook just a little, and I strained to see in the dark.
"Just because you can't see doesn't mean I can't," Al said. "It won't land at this distance, witch, but by all means, waste them. It will make it far easier to beat you into submission when I get in there."
He wasn't getting out, but I put the safety back on and tucked the gun away at the small of my back. I wasn't enough of a fool to think the demons had put me here without knowing I had viable charms on me. They'd taken everything I could use to escape but left me a way to protect myself. Was it a test, or just their twisted version of reality TV? I slumped and leaned my head against the wall. Most likely it was a matter of letting us settle this demon to witch, and if I beat him, Newt would have a better legal shot at me.
The light band of silver around my wrist felt heavier than any chain. I didn't even try to tap a line and figure out how to jump out of here. I was caught, and it looked like I wasn't going to get out of it this time.
"Almost sundown," Al said from the darkness, his voice eager. "A few moments and I'll be free. You were a fool thinking you could pin me in the ever-after by taking my summoning name. No one has ever gotten past that bitch of a statue. No one ever will."
Sundown. He seemed pretty sure someone would summon him out. When they didn't, he was going to be royally ticked, and I scooted back even farther.
A quiver in the middle of my chi started. I froze, my hand to my lower gut. I'd never felt anything like this hollow ache before. And it was growing worse. "I don't feel so good," I whispered to Trent, but it wasn't like he cared.
Al made a harsh bark of laughter. "You shouldn't have drunk that water. It had been exposed to the sun."
"I'm fine," Trent said, his soft voice darker than the warm air that surrounded us.
"You're an elf," Al said with disdain. "Elves are little more than animals. They can eat anything."
I groaned, pressing a hand to my stomach. "No," I said breathily, looking downward. "I really don't feel good." Oh, God. I'm going to spew in front of Trent.
But every muscle in my body shook as a sneeze ripped through me instead.
Minias? I thought as I wiped an arm under my nose. But there was nothing in my mind but my own thoughts.
"Bless you," Trent said sarcastically.
I sneezed again, and the ache in my middle grew. My eyes widened and I flung a hand out to smack against the floor for balance. I felt like I was falling. My insides were falling. Panicking, I reached out to grip Trent. "Something's wrong," I rasped. "Trent, something's really wrong. Are we falling? Tell me you feel like you're falling." I was going to throw up. That's all there was to it.
From across the unseen hall came a roar of anger. "Damned mother of us all!" Al swore, then he swore again as he hit his head, by the sound of it. "You little whore! You stinking ashed little whore! Come here. Come here where I can reach you!"
Struggling to focus on nothing, I shrank from the sound of him hitting the bars and his fingers scrabbling for me. Every move I made seemed to be made a moment after I willed it, the neurons not firing as fast as they should.
"How did you get past the statue!" Al raged, his voice hurting my ears. "It's not possible!"
"What's wrong with me…," I panted, and Trent made an ugly noise, trying to get my grip off his arm.
"You're being summoned out, you little bitch," Al spat. "You've got my summoning name. And it's being used. How did you get my name! You've been unconscious all day!"
I felt like my middle was gone and I was only a shell. I tried to see my hand, but there was nothing. And then my face went utterly cold. "This can't happen. Minias said it couldn't happen. I'm not a demon. It shouldn't work for me! I'm not a demon!"
"Apparently," Al said, slamming into the bars in time with his words, "you're so damn close, it doesn't matter!" There was another grunt, then he shouted, "Someone get me out of here!"
Pain pulled me double and my hair pooled on my knees. Oh, God, it was going to kill me. I felt like I was going to be split in two. No wonder demons were pissed when they were summoned.
"Rachel," Trent was saying, his hand on my back, leaning over me as I gasped for air. "Promise me you'll get my people whole. Promise me you'll use the sample! I'll die content if you promise me you'll use the sample!"
Sample? I don't even have the sample. I pulled my head up, not seeing him, then seized as my aura seemed to soak inward to my core, pulling my flesh along with it. Agony burned through my mind, and whimpering, I stopped fighting it. I wanted to leave, didn't I?
It made all the difference in the world.
The pain vanished. A silver thread of intent pulled through me, and before I could marvel at the heavenly absence of pain, I was whole, my lungs trying to work but not quite managing it yet. I was on my front, facedown. Or at least I would be when my aura finished rising through me, putting the idea of flesh around my soul again. I panted when my lungs formed, and I stared at the shadowy plywood floor two inches before my face. I could see. And it smelled like…bleach?
There was a soft murmur of incantation, and the scent of ash and candle mixed with the reek of burnt amber flowing from me. I looked at my hand in front of my face, seeing the bright glow of my aura. I could see it. I shouldn't have been able to.
I took another breath and the haze of gold faded to nothing. The incantation dissolved into a collective gathering of breath. I was in someone's basement. I had been summoned out under Al's name. It wasn't possible. This was so wrong. Confused, I looked up past the stringy length of my damp curls to see a cluster of black-robed figures safe on the other side of a glowing-hot sheet of ever-after.
"Lord demon," a young, masculine voice said, and my head jerked up as I recognized it. "Are you…well?"
Twenty-nine
"You!" I raged, my confusion vanishing as I saw the youthful, clean-cut features of the I.S. officer standing before the long conference table in Betty's basement.
Angry, I gathered myself and stood, hunched until I knew I wasn't going to hit the green-tinted ever-after over my head. I was on that low stage, standing in the middle of a large circle filling the cave of a pentagram. Greenish white candles marked the corners, which were hazy as they existed both here and in the ever-after. A tarry black sludge marked the limit of my cell. Horror trickled through me as I realized they had used blood to draw the circle, not salt. Damn it, I'm at the center of a black circle.
My gaze went to the crack in the wall, and I felt the assembled people draw back. There were six of them, including Tom Bansen. Music thumped in through the ceiling, a low bass that sounded like a heartbeat, and I thought I recognized it. The stench of bleach and mold told me Betty had been cleaning, but it didn't begin to push out the reek of ever-after I had brought with me. G
od, I needed a shower in the worst way.
Tom's eyes were wide as they took me in: my long duster white with ash and dried salt, my hair a tangled mess, and the dust and grit from the ever-after coating me. There were five men in front of him, all in those hokey black robes. Their hoods made them look like a joke, but these people had been intentionally summoning Al and letting him go, knowing he was going to try to kill me.
Furious, I took three steps, almost running into the arc of ever-after I was trapped behind. Claustrophobia clenched my heart and I took a sharp breath. "Let me out!" I yelled in frustration, feeling the energy cramp the muscles of my hand when I got too close. That had never happened before, even when I had been in someone else's circle. God help me, what had Trent's father done to me? I'd kill him. I'd freaking kill Trent for this.
"I said, let me out!" I shouted. I was helpless. For all my skills, I was completely helpless. The little pissant had me trapped with a stupid circle. "Let me out, now!" I said again, giving in and smacking the shield between us. It hissed and burned, and I held my hand to me as the pain shocked me to my senses. I was not a demon. This had to be a mistake. Al had said I wasn't one. My mom was a witch, and Takata was a witch, and that meant I was a witch. One who can kindle demon magic and be summoned with a name?
From behind the living wall of trembling acolytes, Tom bowed his head. "Of course, lord demon, Algaliarept, after the formalities have been observed. We have prepared."
My next snarl died, and I steeled my face to show no emotion. I glanced down at myself, then back at him. He thought I was Al in disguise?
A slow smile came over my face, which seemed to scare them more than my anger had. If they thought I was Al, they were going to let me out. After all, I had to go kill myself. "Let me out," I said softly, still smiling. "I won't hurt you." Much.
My voice had been low, but inside, I was seething. The FIB wanted proof that Tom was sending Al to kill me? Okay. I was willing to bet I was going to get it. Seeing me calmer, Tom bowed, still looking stupid. No wonder Al got off on being summoned. This was sickening.
"As you will," the man said. "We have everything you demanded." He gestured, and two of the men peeled off and went to the back room that I'd never looked into. "I apologize for the delay. We had an unexpected interruption last night."
"The animal control people? How pathetic," I said, and Tom paled. I smiled, enjoying watching him squirm. Al was right. Information was power.
"There won't be any more delays," Tom stammered, his underlings whispering among themselves. "Once you show us the curse, you may go."
You may go, I thought, stifling an angry snort. I'm going to go put my foot right up your ass, that's where I'm going to go.
The conference table had a drape of red velvet on it, but I hadn't noticed the three nasty knives, the head-size copper pot, or the three candles until the two outermost guys had left. The pot and candles were ominous enough, but the knives made my gut clench. They had everything but the goat. Nervous, I plucked the damp cuffs from my wrist as I had seen Al do with lace. My eyebrows rose when I realized the band of charmed silver was gone, and I reached for a line, finding it. Thank you, God.
"You don't care that I'm going to go murder one of your own?" I asked, fishing for the incriminating words.
"Rachel Morgan?" A hint of disgust crept into Tom's voice. "No. I thought you appeared as her again to taunt me. Kill her and I'll get a raise."
Son of a bastard… Anger burned, and I pointed at him, my scraped palm on my hip. "I showed up as her because she's better than you, you puking, stinking excuse for a witch!" I shouted, then drew back when the circle hummed a warning.
"We are unworthy," Tom said sullenly.
Yeah, like I really believed he thought that.
The door to the back room swung open, and I lifted my attention over Tom to see two men wrestling with a frantic, tied woman. My gaze darted to the knives and the bowl, then to her bandaged wrists and the blood on the floor holding me. Shit.
She was scared, fighting them though her ankles and wrists were bound with duct tape and she wore a gag. "Who is that?" I demanded, struggling to hide my fear. Oh, my God. She is the goat.
"The woman you requested." Tom shifted in his sneakers to look at her. "We had to go out of the city to find her. Again, my apologies for the delay."
Her bare arms were brown from the sun, and her long red hair was bleached by it. Shit on toast, she looked like me, but younger, her limbs lacking the definition of my martial arts practice. Her fear redoubled as she saw me, and she shrieked, starting to fight in earnest.
"Don't hurt her!" I demanded, then shifted my expression to one I hoped looked lascivious enough. "I like untouched skin."
Tom flushed. "Ah, we couldn't find a virgin."
The woman's eyes glistened with tears, but I saw the hint of fury in her. I quite honestly thought that Al wouldn't care if she was a virgin or not. "Don't hurt her," I said again, and the two men wrestling her out dropped her on the floor, standing with their arms crossed above her.
She looked like me. What Al had been going to do with her was sickening. Please let her be the first one…. "Let me out," I said, standing at the arc of ever-after. "Now."
The acolytes shifted with an excited tension. They wouldn't know what hit them.
"Let me out!" I demanded, not caring whether I sounded like a demon. Hell, maybe I was one. My head hurt, but I didn't touch it. Let this be a mistake. Let this all be a big mistake.
Tom looked at the woman, and the first hints of remorse at what he was going to allow to happen to her flickered in his eyes. But he turned away, greed pushing the guilt out. "Do you vow to show us how to successfully perform the spell we want and leave us unharmed, exacting your toll on that woman instead of those who called you?"
I vow you'll never see the outside of a cell again. "Oh, yeah," I lied. "Anything you say."
The idiots behind him smiled and congratulated each other.
"Then be free," Tom said with laughable showmanship, and with the six of them clapping once in unison to indicate their agreement, their collective circle fell.
I shuddered as the prickling vanished, realizing how much it had bothered me to be helpless like that. It hadn't been anything like being in Trent's cage.
The smarter acolytes backed up a step, reading in my posture that they were going to be hurting in the morning. I reached behind me to the splat gun, putting one foot on the circle so it couldn't be invoked anew. "Tom," I said, smiling, "you are so stupid."
His confusion showed, and when I brought out my gun, he jumped to the side.
I shot three of them before anyone else had the smarts to move.
The room seemed to flow into motion. Shouting in fear, the three men left standing scattered, looking like frogs with their silly black robes streaming behind them. The woman on the floor was crying behind her gag, and I shot over her as she rolled to her hands and knees and tried to get to the metal door at the stairway out of here.
A tingle of ever-after prickled through my aura, and I left the raised stage, heading for the nearest guy. They were setting a net, basically an undrawn circle that took three or more proficient ley line witches to hold. He was on his knees, wide-eyed and scared, and when he saw me coming at him, he increased the volume of his voice, screaming Latin at me.
"Your syntax sucks!" I shouted, then grabbed the copper pot off the table and threw it at him. Yeah, I was ticked, but if I didn't get him to stop talking, they might have me.
He ducked, and in the instant he was distracted, I plowed into him.
Yanking him up by his shirtfront, I drew back to slug him, my balance shifting forward when something hit me from behind. Yelping, I let go and stood up, trying to get out of my coat. It was smoldering, covered in green goo.
"Hey! This is not my coat!" I shouted, turning to see Tom winding up again.
The guy I had pulled up from the floor skittered away, and swearing, I remembered my gun and just shot
the poor sucker. He dropped like a bag of flour, sighing as his nose broke and blood soaked the ugly carpet. Poor Betty. She was going to have to get out the Shop-Vac again.
The woman screamed, and I spun at the piercing sound. My look-alike had gotten her gag off and was curled up at the door with her hands and feet still bound. I could hear Sampson on the other side, yapping and trying to dig his way through. The sound of her fear dove to the primitive part of my brain and set my adrenaline flowing.
"Please let me out," she sobbed, trying to reach the knob with her bound wrists. "Someone please let me out!" She saw me looking at her, and she scrabbled harder. "Don't kill me. I want to live. Please, I want to live!"
I was going to be sick. But her fear turned to wonder, and her eyes tracked behind me. My skin prickled, and when her mouth opened in a little round O, I threw myself to the floor.
A small explosion shifted the air, and my ears rang. Pulling my gaze up from the damp carpet, I saw another puddle of green goo slowly sliding down the dark paneling, eating away at it. Damn, what had Al taught them?
I rolled, intuition telling me there was another one coming.
"You idiot!" I shouted as I leapt to my feet, cursing my habit of talking during fights and righteous sex. "You want a piece of me? You want a piece of this? I'll shove it down your damn throat!"
In an inexcusable act of cowardice, Tom pushed the last acolyte at me. The man fell at my feet, begging for mercy. So I shot him with a sleepy-time potion. It was all the mercy I had right now.
Pissed, I spun to Tom. "You're next, little man," I snarled, taking aim. I squeezed the trigger, and a sheet of green-tinted ever-after rose up around him.
I leapt forward, pinwheeling to a stop when I realized I was too late. Tom had reset the circle I had been summoned into, putting himself in its center. One of the candles had been knocked over, and it rolled off the stage, trailing melted wax and a thin plume of smoke.