It’s early evening, but a rising full moon and a cloudless sky bathe Balboa Park in a translucent glow. Shadows dance off the buildings and trees as if backlit. The only sounds come from the zoo nearby—the screams and howls of animals responding to some primeval urge to beg the moon for liberation. The animal in me responds, too. It stirs and growls and aches for the hunt.
The witches are waiting when I come off the elevator. It’s quiet in the big anteroom that is the nerve center of the compound. Only a half dozen psychics are on duty. They pay us no heed when we disappear down the hall.
Once the door is closed behind us, Susan Powers speaks first, taking the bowl I hold out to her. “You are sure you want to do this?” She looks at the bowl with its ruby liquid—Sophie’s blood—and places it on a table. “It is very dangerous. Once we get you to your destination, you have only ten minutes before we lose our ability to pull you back. After that, you will be on your own. Our magic will no longer be able to help you.”
“Or protect you,” Min Liu adds. “You will be a human with no powers on a ghostly plane. It’s a foolish risk, Anna. We have no way of knowing what form Belinda has taken. Williams said she was hurt badly, but she survived what would have killed a lesser witch. We beg you to think this through carefully. There must be another way.”
I draw a breath. “There is no other way. I can’t afford to wait for her to get strong enough to come back. I’ve beaten her twice. Next time, she may strike without warning at people I love, at me. This is my only chance to strike first.”
Ariela approaches, takes my hand. “Then if you’re sure, we will prepare you for the journey.”
I nod and let her lead me to the center of the room. She takes a brush and paints a circle around me with Sophie’s blood. At the same time, Min dips her fingers into the bowl and dabs my face—forehead, cheeks, lips.
The blood neither awakens the beast nor excites it.
“Are you wearing the amulet?” Min asks.
I pull the charm from under my T-shirt and let it fall between my breasts.
She touches the amulet with the blood. “This will be your guide. It will lead you to Burke and after, back to us.”
“What should I expect?” I ask. “What will this ‘ghostly plane’ be like?”
Susan has been at the table, first arranging candles, then mixing some kind of potion in a golden goblet. She looks up. “We don’t know. None of us are powerful enough to attempt the journey.”
She says it while holding my gaze with her own and with a kind of awe that makes my eagerness for what may come even more intense. I want to do this.
Min is still holding the bowl. “Give me your weapon. I’ll anoint it, also.”
“Weapon?” I repeat. “I have no weapon with me. I am vampire. I thought that would be enough.”
Min’s eyes widen. “I told you,” she says. “You will be human on the ghostly plane. You will not be vampire. You can only pass through the portal as a human.”
Susan frowns. “Williams didn’t explain that to you?”
I press my fingertips against my eyes for a moment, seeing Williams on his back with that spear of rebar in his chest. “No. It doesn’t matter. Weapon or no weapon, I’ve got to do this now.”
The three exchange concerned glances. Ariela crosses to the table and picks up a dagger Susan had used to strip herbs from a slender twig. She touches the blade with the blood and brings it to me.
The dagger is about ten inches long, the blade tapering from a leather-bound handle to a fine point. Its weight lies heavy in my hand. I hold it up, watch light dance along the blade, nod to the witches. Ariela hands me the sheath. I secure it around my waist with a cord, slip the knife inside. Close my jacket around it.
“I’m ready.”
The three move to the outside of the circle. Susan picks up the goblet, begins to chant. Smoke rises from the goblet, first white, then black. Min and Ariela join hands, adding their voices to the song, a simple phrase in a language unknown to me, a single rhythmic note repeated over and over.
I watch and listen, fascinated, waiting. I don’t know what to expect—what will the journey be like? Will I fly? Will I sense movement?
A thrill runs through my body, prickly as electric current.
I am not afraid. I’m excited. Every cell in my body thrums with anticipation.
The smoke grows darker and denser. How could so much smoke come from that tiny goblet? The witches are a dim shadow lost in the haze. Their voices fade, receding as if it is they who are moving through time and space.
A tiny sensation. The floor shifting beneath my feet. A rumble of distant thunder. The room gone black as night. I close my eyes. For an instant.
When I open them, the world has changed.
CHAPTER 57
I’M IN A ROOM. DAZZLING WHITE. NO WINDOWS or doors. Now what?
I touch the amulet.
It warms and begins to glow. As it does, shapes form out of nothingness. A table. A round globe in the center.
I approach it. I know what I’m supposed to do. Something deep in my subconscious guides me. I place both hands on the globe. Beneath my fingertips, it stirs as if alive. Beneath my fingertips . . . My physical senses are sharper. I watch, fascinated, excited, as clouds form in the sphere, then clear.
I see a room. A bed. An old woman lying still beneath a quilt of grass. She opens her eyes and looks up at me. Awareness blooms behind cataractous eyes. No fear. A smile. She beckons with a crooked finger.
A whirl of movement.
I’m at the bedside.
Belinda Burke is sitting up. She is bent with age and stoop-shouldered. Her face is lined. She is squinting at me through lenses shrouded in the opaque film of age. But she recognizes me. Her bitter malevolence permeates the air like moisture after a summer storm.
“You came, Anna. Not Williams. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Did you kill him?”
She shakes her head without waiting for me to answer. “No. Of course not. It’s not in you to kill. You still fight the animal within. It will be your downfall, you know.”
She stirs, one gnarly hand grasping the blanket as if to throw it off.
I move faster, grab that hand, still it.
She smiles up at me. “You have no power here.”
“From what I see, neither do you.”
A breath stirs the hair on the back of my neck. It’s like the breeze from an open door. I whirl around.
The guy from the restaurant, the one I assumed was Burke’s bodyguard, is behind me. He looks bigger than I remembered. He’s dressed exactly like before, oddly tailored black suit. The only difference this time is his eyes. They are opaque like Burke’s.
Her laugh is high-pitched, malicious. “You didn’t think I’d be without protection, did you?” She waves a hand.
The man advances on me. He’s snarling, snapping at the air like a dog.
I know I should be scared. In this place, I have no vampire strength or speed. And yet, I was a bounty hunter long before I got those powers. I’d learned to protect myself as a human. He’s human, too. He’s used to his size intimidating people. It doesn’t intimidate me.
I step away from him. A side kick to the solar plexus catches him off guard. A follow-up elbow to the face and he staggers back. He shakes his head. Roars in outrage.
His hand moves to open his jacket.
Shit. Weapons do work here. I rush him. He’s too big to get my arms around. He’s male. The kick catches him square in the groin. It staggers him. But it’s not enough. I put every bit of strength I have into a follow-up.
That works.
He gasps, doubles over, grabs at himself. Color floods his face.
My chance. I use the heel of my palm to strike the deathblow. An upward blow fueled by the pain and desperation of eighteen young girls. A blow that smashes the cartilage in his nose and forces bone into his brain with a satisfying crunch.
He goes down like a rock.
Now for Belinda
.
I draw the blade from the sheath at my waist and show it to her.
Still, no fear. Her arrogance provokes a strange reaction in me. Not anger. Not resentment.
Confidence. I let the corners of my mouth tip up.
She frowns at the smile, waves an impatient hand in the direction of her fallen lackey. “It won’t be as easy for you to kill me as it was him.”
“No? Why?”
“You were defending your life with him. You won’t kill me, Anna. I’m an old woman. Bedridden. Helpless. You pride yourself on being human. You think you know what you are meant to do with that humanity. Protect the weak. I have nothing to fear from you.”
Even as I step close to the bed, her expression and tone don’t change. She is unafraid, contemptuous.
“You are a stupid girl. Like my sister. You made a mistake coming after me. A mistake you will regret. I will rest here awhile. Then I will return. You will not see it coming. Either of you.”
I move without thought, without hesitation. The knife slides in easily. Under the left breast. The blade meets no resistance.
I lean close, whisper in Burke’s ear. “You made the mistake, old woman. You mistake being human for being weak. I will always protect those I love. Always.”
I watch the surprise bloom and fade in dead eyes, watch life drain away. I keep pressure on the knife until I feel the last flutter of her heart, watch as her chest slows and caves with the expiration of her last breath.
When I withdraw the knife, the copper smell of her blood mingles with the waste released from a body already beginning to decay.
It is the smell of victory. The knife is suddenly weightless in my hand.
The amulet begins to glow again, but this time, for a different reason. I understand the message. My time is almost up.
Once again, instinct tells me what to do. I cup the charm in my hands. The room fades as my vision blurs. Night descends. Then, smoke. An odor. Incense. A sound. The song of the witches.
I blink and I’m back.
The witches’ song stops. They gather round me, eager to know what happened, what the journey was like.
Words don’t come. It’s as if the last ten minutes belonged to someone else. When I replay it in my head, there is no feeling except one—relief. That I’m back. That Burke is dead. That Sophie and I are safe.
Susan frowns. “Are you all right?”
I shake my head, not in response, but in an attempt to clear it. “I think so.”
Min takes the knife gently from my hand. Until that moment, I didn’t realize I was still holding it. Burke’s blood stains the blade. “She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
By my hand. I glance down. No blood there.
I look up and see how much the three want details. Their faces shine with excitement. It was as much their journey as it was mine. They deserve to be told how their magic worked.
I can’t do it. Not now. My thoughts and feelings center on only one thing—I have to tell Sophie that her sister is dead.
When I leave them, it is with thanks for their help and a promise to be back. The concern for me in their eyes is like a mantle that sits heavy on my shoulders all the way home.
CHAPTER 58
WHEN I WALK IN THE FRONT DOOR, SOPHIE IS waiting for me. She’s downstairs, sitting in the dark. Shivering. She’s twisted a blanket around her body, tightly, protection against a cold she alone feels. Her eyes shine in the light that filters through the windows. Unshed tears make them shimmer and spark, glittering jewels that reflect like mirrors the moonlight so bright it turns night into day.
Her breath catches when she sees me.
I stop at the doorway.
She knows.
When I move to turn on a light, her voice, a ghostly echo, says, “Don’t.”
I drop my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” Sophie says.
“Not for killing Belinda. It had to be done. I am sorry for you.”
Sophie’s voice catches. “At least you’re honest. But Belinda couldn’t have hurt you. Not for a long time. You must have seen that.”
What I saw was a malicious old woman already plotting to come after me—and Sophie.
What I see before me now is a grieving woman, mourning the loss of a sister. I wonder how she knew. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes. I’ve heard of twins having a psychic link. Perhaps sibling witches do, too? Did Burke come to her at the moment of her death? Did she make Sophie feel guilty because it was Sophie’s spell that left her vulnerable?
It’s easier to let Sophie direct her anger to me, to allow her to remember whatever good she can, than to shatter the illusion by telling her the truth. Burke was evil. If she had lived, Sophie and I both would have been targets of her revenge.
Fatigue washes over me.
“I need to sleep. Will you be all right?”
She doesn’t reply.
I’ll take care of her. Deveraux’s voice is hushed, grateful. I know what happened, Anna. I read it in your thoughts just now. You did the right thing. Eventually, she will see it, too.
Maybe. Sophie is staring straight ahead, tears now spilling freely from her eyes. For once, I’m glad for Deveraux. Theirs is a bizarre relationship, but she’s not alone.
Not like me.
I trudge up the stairs, my heart as heavy as my legs. For the last few nights I’ve slept in an unmade bed, with just a blanket wrapped around me. Now I pull a set of linens from the closet and tug, pull and smooth the sheets until the bed is made up. Tuck in blankets, fluff pillows.
I hope this simple housekeeping chore will relax me, remind me that my life is filled with more than monsters and killing. That it will prepare me for a good night’s sleep.
But when I finally crawl between those sheets, it’s not what happened today that banishes sleep from my mind.
It’s what’s going to happen tomorrow.
I’d almost forgotten.
Ortiz’ funeral is scheduled for two o’clock.
CHAPTER 59
I’M UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. I SHOWER AND dress, eschewing my usual jeans and T-shirt and choosing instead black slacks and a cotton blouse under a black blazer.
For the funeral.
Sophie is asleep in the guest room. She must have come back upstairs sometime during the night.
I make a quick run down to Mission Café. I order eggs Benedict and a fruit cup and a couple of cinnamon rolls and have it all packaged to go. I never keep food in the house—no need—but I know Sophie had nothing to eat yesterday. If she’s hungry this morning, I want to have something ready for her.
Back at home, I place the eggs in a covered dish in a warm oven along with the cinnamon rolls and start the coffeepot.
Lance calls as I’m pouring my first cup. The sound of his voice warms me. He’ll be on the first flight in the morning and asks if I want to pick him up.
He’s coming home early. It’s an unexpected gift. I’m so grateful I can barely contain my excitement. I jot down the time and flight number.
Sophie appears in the kitchen just as I’m hanging up.
Deveraux makes the first comment. Boyfriend coming home?
His tone is smug. Obviously he listened in to my conversation with Lance on his way downstairs. It’s aggravating enough to make me want to snap back at him. But Sophie hasn’t said anything, and I’m more concerned about her than irritated at Deveraux and his party tricks.
I point her to a place at the kitchen table. She drops into the chair, still without a word. I don’t want to push. I busy myself setting out the food and utensils.
She watches me with dull eyes. She does pick up the fork, finally, but instead of eating, moves the food around her plate in small, unenthusiastic circles. After a minute, she pushes the plate away. “I guess I’m not very hungry.”
I offer her a cup of coffee. She shakes her head. “You don’t have tea, do you?”
Regretfully, I shake my head. “
No. Sorry. I could run to the store, though.”
She releases a sigh. “No. Don’t bother. Water?”
I get a bottle from the refrigerator and hand it to her. She takes a tiny sip. “Thanks.”
We lapse into silence. I don’t want to bring up the subject, but there are still questions that have to be answered. Culebra and Frey are no longer in danger, but the women who were victimized by Burke and her miracle cream are.
“Sophie, what is going to happen to the women who used your cream? Will they get well on their own? Do the police need to track them down?”
She lifts her chin. “If they were given a strong enough formula, they’ll go through a terrible withdrawal. They may even have the impulse to drink blood, so the police should be aware. With or without help, the women will revert back to their former selves within a month or so of their last application. If all of the cream was destroyed in the fire, there should be nothing more to worry about.”
There’s a hint of antagonism is her voice. Dark anger that I acted precipitously in going after her sister. She thinks the fire ended the threat.
But I know there are truckloads of the stuff out there somewhere. I saw them. Did Williams give the information to the police? So much has happened in the last few days, I don’t know.
May as well broach the second subject. “Have you changed your mind about helping the—” I fumble for the right words. My first choice, the vampires your sister created, tortured and bled, seems too strong right now. She’s grieving the sister, not the monster.
“The girls you told me about last night?”
Saved. “Yes.”
“Of course I want to help them. Why would you think I’d changed my mind about that?” She pushes her chair back. “If you can give me a change of clothes, I’d like to get going.”
I stand up with her and follow her up the stairs. She wants to get away from me as quickly as she can.
I suppose I can’t blame her.
Jeanne C. Stein - Retribution Page 22