by C. E. Murphy
“The eye of the storm.” Morrison waited for my nod. “The eye is where the calm is, Walker.”
“I know. But since all we’ve got to communicate with is shortwave radio, all we can know about is what’s right here. The rest of it we’re going to have to fix later.”
“What if we can’t?”
“I choose not to accept that as a possibility.”
To my surprise, Morrison chuckled. “You’re pathological, Walker.” Then he drew me into his arms and we held on to each other for a minute, taking comfort where we could.
I pulled away reluctantly. “All right, this won’t get it done. Let’s set up a power circle and...” I trailed off, looking up at the Needle. “I think I have a really bad idea. Do you think we could use that thing as a lightning rod?”
Morrison followed my gaze, then eyed me. “Walker, are you suggesting we try to draw all this dark power to Seattle’s most recognizable landmark?”
“Yep.” It was an awful idea. I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know how it could work. For one thing, drawing a power circle around the Space Needle would be a work of art, because there were different levels, parking lots, exhibition centers, amusement parks, museums and conference halls in the way. Furthermore, most of those had been knocked around in some fashion, making them considerably more difficult to navigate than usual.
“Wouldn’t that be—” Morrison was clearly searching for a word that could convey the exceedingly high levels of doom inherent in the idea. “Wouldn’t that be very bad for the Needle?” he finally asked, with the air of a man accepting that language strong enough to encompass the potential disaster would only sound hyperbolic.
“I expect so. On the other hand, it might be a great deal better for, say, the entire Pacific Rim than the current situation.”
“Can you be sure of that?”
“Of course not.”
Morrison pursed his lips, looking at the Needle again. “So that’s the plan, then.”
I smiled. “Yes. Yes, it is. Okay. Gary? Coyote?” I shouted their names and Gary got up from the broken fountain where he cradled Annie. Morrison went to get my drum and Coyote came around a corner a minute or two later, looking less rattled than he had in a while. “What were you doing,” I demanded of him, “eating your Wheaties?”
“Something like that. Checking out the grounds. They’re a mess.”
“I know. And we have to build a power circle around them, anyway.” I explained the plan, trying to ignore the dubious looks Gary and Coyote exchanged. “There are four of us, one for each cardinal point, so we—”
Gary’s bushy eyebrows went up and he hefted Annie a few inches, like she was a question.
“I’ll keep her with me. I’m best equipped for that. Morrison, I want you opposite me in the north. Coyote and Gary can take east and west. I don’t know how we’re going to manage to line up exactly, with this big of a circle and with us not being able to see each other, but we’re going to have to make do. Morrison, I want you and Gary to walk around together. Coyote can go the other way. Crap, how are we going to signal that we’re in the right places? You can send up a spark of aura,” I said to Coyote. “You two—well, you do your best to think about being ready. Maybe I’ll be able to see your auras.”
Coyote squinted. “Jo, separating us like that is just asking for trouble. Why don’t we go up and use the restaurant as our circle? It’s the right shape, and we’ll be close enough to one another to provide some backup.”
“Because I kind of thought being in the lightning rod might be a bad idea, you know? Also, do you really want to be five hundred feet off the ground if the Needle fries and goes to pieces?” My vehemence was born of the fear he was right, that the Center grounds were just too big to build a power circle around.
“I really don’t,” he admitted, “but are you saying you couldn’t keep us safe if the Needle came down? I told you, Jo, you were unassailable back there when the buildings fell. After all that nagging, your shields are finally flawless.”
I said, “Nothing’s flawless,” but I returned the rueful smile he offered. “Fine, then, but if we survive I expect you to take full credit because you did nag me endlessly about the shields.”
Coyote lifted his voice slightly, not that there was anybody beyond the five of us within hearing range. “I’d like everyone to note that Joanne has just given me permission to take credit for saving the world if we get out of this alive.”
“I’m practically sure that’s not what I said....”
Laughter drowned out my objection, and I didn’t mind at all. We traipsed into the building, Coyote pushing the elevator button without much hope. A small cheer went up when the doors actually opened, though Morrison said, “Do not take an elevator in case of emergency,” under his breath.
I patted his shoulder as the elevator began to rise. “Don’t worry. I’m practically certain we won’t be coming down in it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel at all better, Walker.”
Since the elevator was working, I was less astonished that the restaurant on top was still rotating. In fact, it looked bizarrely normal. Empty, but normal: nothing had been destroyed or even shaken out of place. Silverware and glasses still remained on the tables, which sat neatly in place. If I kept my focus very near, on items in the restaurant itself, I could almost ignore the black clouds hanging so low outside that it seemed we were actually within them. I could almost ignore that—despite the clouds—it was easier to see farther from here than anywhere else in Seattle. I could almost ignore the signs of destruction in my city.
Almost, but not quite. We all stood in the elevator door for a long moment, trying not to see what lay beyond the windows, but then I shook myself and stalked forward. I had to see, as if it would remind me what I was fighting for. As if I needed the reminder.
The Alaskan Way Viaduct and everything along and under it had disappeared, leaving smoke and rubble in its place. No more Pike Place Market, no more Pioneer Square. I swayed, staring at the reminder of how much of Seattle was built up. It had only been a couple of weeks since I’d been crawling through Seattle Underground. My stomach twisted at the thought of the homeless men and women who lived down there, people who had had probably no chance at all to get out. I wondered what had happened to Rita.
I let the Sight filter on bit by bit, afraid I would be overwhelmed if I turned it on all at once. The rain turned black, increasingly laced with dark magic, and it wasn’t just rising from Thunderbird Falls anymore. The whole city was feeding it, death and fear and bleak opportunism giving the Master’s proxies strength.
There were pinpoints of light, and sometimes whole bubbles of it, where Seattle’s adepts—whatever sort of magic-users they might be—had gathered to offer sanctuary. There were other places that glowed with a different light, and I thought those might be spiritual centers, fighting against the dark with prayer. They were heroes, choosing to stand against evil. I admired them.
And I feared for them. They were surrounded by a sea of anger, fear, despair, loss, all the dark things that not only drove humanity, but fed my ancient enemy. “The Devourer,” Gary said all of a sudden, and I flinched. “S’what Horns called him. The Devourer. S’what he’s doing, too, isn’t it? He’s eating Seattle.”
“He’s feeding himself with Seattle.” The difference in phrasing seemed important, but I nodded either way, then forced myself to step away from the windows. Watching wasn’t going to help.
“Okay.” I wasn’t really talking to my gang, but they all came to attention anyway. “I’m going to do two circles. A big one around the perimeter and a smaller widdershins one inside that. Not right in the center, but I think that won’t matter. It’s not like I can line up the points to the compass anyway, with the restaurant turning in circles. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“You want us to take points?” Gary looked like he needed something to do, but I shook my head.
“Not yet. In the s
maller circle, yeah.” I went around the restaurant anti-rotation so I wouldn’t get confused when I did the smaller circle in reverse. It didn’t really move that fast, something like one rotation an hour, so I could and did pause and acknowledge the cardinal points when I reached them. Maybe doing that would hold them in place even if our location changed relative to them. When I got back to the boys they’d taken up a back-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder stance, keeping eyes out in all directions. My drum was on a table and Morrison was holding Annie again, though Coyote kept glancing at them like he was ready to swoop in and save the damsel if necessary. I nodded at the floor. “You can put her down now. I’ll build the circle around her.”
“Is that wise?”
“I guess we’ll find out. No, it is. I’ve got to protect her as much as anything else. I want her inside both circles. If I do this right, the smaller one will keep things out while the big one keeps them in. It’ll be a ring trap. I hope.”
Morrison knelt without further argument. I pointed Coyote and Gary to opposite sides of the circle. Gary took up his position with the confidence of long familiarity and the need to do something. Coyote bounced on his toes like an impatient five-year-old, watching me for his cue. Morrison stood and backed away from Annie a few steps, and I backed up with my arms outstretched, gesturing for the others to do the same. When we stood with touching fingertips, I nodded and dropped my arms.
Other shamans could probably do the next part without feeling silly. I still couldn’t. I had to clear my throat and shuffle in place a little bit to get myself started. “Raven. Rattler. Renee.” The alliteration had seemed a lot cooler when I didn’t have to say it out loud in front of people, but my spirit animals didn’t seem to mind that a blush climbed my cheeks and made the little scratch on the right one itch. I felt them come to me—Raven perched on one shoulder, Renee on the other, and Rattler winding around my waist like a living belt. Even Raven’s usual humor was subdued: he felt as serious and focused as I’ve ever known him to be. Rattler, who tended toward sarcasm rather than silliness, held his forked tongue on this occasion and poor beleaguered Renee, my newly acquired walking stick who had no evident sense of humor, sat and waited with the patience of a creature for whom forever was a quantifiable and considered window of time.
“Coyote.”
Coyote startled like I’d pulled his hair. I gave him a lopsided grin. “No, not you. Coyote.”
He mouthed, “Oh,” and nodded. I didn’t really know if Coyote was one of his spirit animals, but it seemed unlikely he’d carry the moniker without a direct connection to the big guy. I held Gary’s gaze a moment. “Tortoise.”
To my complete surprise he inclined his head, but said, “Don’t forget Raven, doll,” as a snow-white corvid appeared on his shoulder.
My jaw fell open. My mother had been friends with a white raven I’d called Wings, but he had been a truly ancient spirit friend, his whiteness earned through age. The bird on Gary’s shoulder seemed younger somehow, and wore his brilliant color like it was a battle scar. My raven offered one quiet and dignified klok! to his compatriot, who spread his wings a little in acknowledgment. Then he hopped carefully to Gary’s other shoulder, and as he did, I saw a familiar hint of the tortoise shell that had protected Gary in the past.
I was dying to know when Gary had picked up a raven companion, but it was obviously going to have to wait. I cranked my mouth shut again, scrambled for dignity and said, “Right. Raven, too,” before squinching my face apologetically at Morrison. “Wolf.”
Morrison looked dour but didn’t object. I grinned, then looked down at Annie. I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. We needed every bit of help we could get, even if the subject was compromised. “Stag,” I whispered, “and cheetah. Help me, please. All of you, help me if you can. A thing is coming to kill this world, and we’re all that stands between it and success. Anything you can give me, I’ll accept. I awaken the outer circle.”
Power lanced from me, setting silver-blue fire to the restaurant’s perimeter. “Keep it in,” I whispered. “All the power we bring here, all the darkness, please, I ask you to keep it within this circle.”
Half a dozen spirit animals, creatures of light and line and magic, leaped away, racing to keep the border I’d ignited. Cheetah chased Stag, who jumped straight upward in the middle of the race. Cheetah rushed beneath him, unable to stop in time, and when Stag landed, it was to chase Cheetah instead. A white raven flapped above them, cawing hilarity that matched a wolf’s long amused howl. A tortoise crept along steadily, ignoring the others’ antics, his solid slow presence anchoring their activity.
No. Not half a dozen. Only five. Coyote had kept his spirit animal close. Five without, four within. One for each of the rotating compass’s points. I didn’t have time to smile at him for the thought. “I awaken the inner circle. Keep it out. This is our sanctuary, our safe place in the storm. Darkness cannot cross here; nothing can that I do not allow. Recognize those I do allow: my heart.” Now I smiled at Morrison, then at Gary. “My soul.” Finally, to Coyote, I said, “My guide,” and sent power into our small circle, enclosing us in white-hot magic.
Coyote said, “At last,” and pummeled me with Raven Mocker wings.
Chapter Nineteen
I wished I could say I rallied. That I’d anticipated it all along and was prepared.
I didn’t. I hadn’t. I wasn’t. Black wings smashed into me and I fell, too stunned to think, much less act. The floor hit me vindictively, knocking what breath remained out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale again, nor was I even sure I wanted to. My world meant very little, maybe nothing, if Coyote was one of the bad guys. It might be better to never breathe again. To never think beyond staticky white shock rushing through my mind, drowning out the sound of blood in my ears.
Someone was screaming. Not outside my head: inside it. Probably me, then. Screaming bewilderment, fear, loss, horror. Screaming at the vast black wings battering our little keep-it-in circle. Screaming as Gary fell beneath the beating wings. Screaming as Morrison fumbled for the gun he’d borrowed from Billy, then fell, too, all of us huddled lumps of confusion and pain.
Coyote stepped over us and knelt beside Annie, his terrible wings encircling her as he crooned, “Forgive me, my love. They would not let me hold you. Wake now and join me at long last. Let us call our master together. Let us—”
Gary, bless him, roared, “That’s my wife!” and bashed into Coyote from the far side. They both slammed across the little circle, crashed into its wall directly above me and slid down in a writhing, wrestling four-hundred-plus-pound mass that landed more or less on my rib cage.
I hadn’t had any breath to lose anyway, but the impact shook off the shocked paralysis holding me in place. I shoved upward, aware that while I was pretty strong, there had to be magic helping me throw that much weight off in one go. That was fine. Better than fine, since it was nice to know the magic chose wisely even if I felt like I was flatlining. But Coyote rose much higher than even a magic-assisted boost could account for, massive wings slamming the circle’s walls as he lifted himself out of our reach. There was far too little space for him to fly, but men with wings held no more accountability to physics than rain-born fire. His face contorted with hatred as he searched for room to maneuver, a way to reach Annie without exposing himself to the rest of us. I put a hand out to Gary, making sure he was all right.
He grunted. I took that as man-speak for “I’m fine,” and folded myself into a crouch. Raven!
Raven couldn’t give me wings, not here in the Middle World. Not unless I was willing to shape-shift, and I wasn’t at all sure I could shift into an angel anyway. Natural creatures, yeah, but nobody had—Coyote hadn’t—given me a primer on shifting into supernatural beings. Of which werewolves didn’t count, since a wolf was technically a normal animal.
But I didn’t need wings. I just needed to jump high enough to catch Coyote and bring him down to fighting level. I thrust out of my crouch and gained fa
r more height than I should have, a sensation of wings crazy around my spine.
Coyote backhanded me the moment I came in reach, then battered me down to the floor again with his wings. I lay there wheezing and wincing for a couple seconds, trying to come up with a better plan. Renee?
It would not be safe to slip through time, she responded, which made me cross my eyes like I could see her inside my head. “Seriously? Because it’s not so safe out here, either.”
You spoke of your enemy unraveling you from time. Now you lie cheek by cheek with two of his most powerful creatures. This is not the time to take that risk.
Ah. The voice of sense and practicality that I’d needed for the past fifteen months had finally arrived. Her timing was not, I thought, spectacularly good. Rattler?
Ssssomeday, my sibilant spirit companion said, you will learn to think first of me when we mussst fight, Joanne Walker. My friend, he said to Raven in a much less scolding tone than he’d used with me. My brain was still wondering what messages to send to my muscles when I leaped upward again, snake-strike fast, and body-checked Coyote against the power circle’s wall.
Rather to my petty satisfaction, the circle went BZOT! like a magically powered electric fence, and for a heartbeat Coyote went slack-jawed and vacant-eyed, his wings turning to black mist.
I took the chance I was given, and rudely invited myself into his garden.
It was not the place I remembered. Oh, the parts were all still there: the hard desert sky, the endless reshaping dunes, the rock garden that held hidden cool spaces for a coyote to wait out the heat of day. But it was subtly wrong: the sky was the wrong color of hard blue, the dunes ever-changing but showing black dust with each shift of wind. The rocks weren’t just cool, but cold, the cold of dead things and dank places. I stood alone in that unpleasantry for a moment, fingers steepled against my lips, before daring to whisper, “Coyote?”