by Faith Hunter
Page 37
Beast padded into the basement room. Whoever was breathing and snoring, wasn’t in here. There was no furniture, no washing machine or dryer, nothing except walls and ceiling, which were painted white, and the floor, which was painted black . . . and the white witch circle in the center of the room. The paintings on the walls were equidistant apart, and were arranged according to century. Though the fashions changed, the people in the paintings did not. They were the vampire witches, the Damours, Renee and her brothers—and husbands. She had married her siblings. I’d helped kill them.
In the earlier paintings, the female vamps wore high-waisted, slender dresses showing a lot of cleavage, delicate shoes, and lots of natural-colored hair. The adult Damours were depicted through the ages, and sometimes their whacked-out teenaged children. In some paintings, the teens lay in the center of the witch circles and pentagrams, vamped out and clearly raving; in others, they were outside the circles. And there were always the sacrifices. In several paintings, the sacrificial witch children were dead, their throats cut, lives forfeited in the pentagram’s center. In others, they were being drunk from as they died.
The experiments had changed in each depiction. In some, the circles and pentagrams were made by cutting into the earth, as if with a spade. In others, the circles were made with other things: powder or flour, feathers, flowers, broken stones, pebbles, shaped stones, bricks. The sacrificial athames in the older depictions were steel. The most recent ones were silver. One painting showed the long-chained teens ripping out the throats of the sacrifices and drinking them down. In another, the husbands and their two children were inside the circle, savaging a second man. Two younger, fangless children were being sacrificed by Renee Damour, the mother, a silver knife held high.
The fourteenth painting was different from the previous ones. In it, a vamp raced downhill, white dress flying back with her speed, eyes blazing, holding a flaming cross. Sabina Delgado y Aguilar, the vampire priestess, coming to the rescue, vamped out, her face in a rictus scream of pain, her arms on fire, flames licking toward her body. The vamps in the circle were running away, faces full of terror.
The fifteenth and last painting came from the 1970s, just before the advent of digital cameras. Vamps hadn’t had the use of silvered mirrors or silver-based film, so, until recently, if they wanted to see themselves, they had to pay for art. I had killed the Damours, the original owners of the blood-diamond amulet, to keep them from killing Angelina and Little Evan. I had done what seemed wise in giving the paintings to the strongest, most ethical witch I knew, the children’s aunt. And she had stolen the diamond and reunited it with the paintings. But Evangelina was not a vamp with vamp children, and she was no longer ethical. What was she doing with all this? Nothing made sense. The snoring grew softer as I stood there. Monotonous. It seemed to emanate from the back wall, from a thin, dark line, a narrow crack.
Beast took the last step to the black floor and stopped, paws together, neck outstretched, facing the white-painted witch circle in the center of the big room. The outline of the circle on the floor was covered in salt, sealing it, indicating that, when Evangelina left, she left a working in progress. As we stared, Beast took another step, and I felt a quiver pass through us, electric and painful. The ward over the circle flared, bright and sharp, red as blood. Stinging.
Beast hissed. The shock settled low in our belly, deep in our joints. And tugged. The room went brighter, whiter, as our pupils dilated. Beast took another step forward and stumbled.
Crap. Beast? Black lightning and scarlet motes flashed through the ward, much like the hedge of thorns, a protection ward Molly had once made for me, and similar to one Evangelina had made for Leo, back when she was still part of the witch/vamp negotiations. But Leo’s had been built like a cone which had stopped just short of the ceiling, and it hadn’t worked perfectly. This one was bowl shaped, a far stronger ward.
Beast took another step. Something dark flowed up from the center of the circle, like smoke, but cohesive. Like a shadow, but three dimensional. It threw itself at the ward. The lightning coalesced at the impact point, blacker than night, flickering with purple and blue lights. Scarlet motes swarmed out and around the ward, as if looking for escape. The shadow fell back, expanded horizontally for a moment before reshaping. It looked vaguely like a person, one with extra-broad shoulders. Something about its form also looked angry and, maybe, hungry. The ward returned to its bloodred color and the lightning resumed its flickering.
Beast’s breath sped up, panting. Hunger lanced through her stomach and bowels. She took another step toward the thing inside.
I realized that she had been spelled by whatever working was taking place in the circle. Beast! I shouted into her mind. Another step brought us within feet of the circle. Beast! When she didn’t react, and took another step, I reached out mentally and put my hands and feet into her paws. Balance was different. I’d never been in control of Beast and I/we stumbled. I sat us down, her body listing drunkenly. The floor had a chill to it on Beast’s backside, like bare stone. But at least we weren’t moving forward anymore.
I could still feel the call drawing Beast closer, and knew I had to get us back from the working, but I didn’t know how. Extending her claws, I pressed them against the floor lightly, as I studied the thing inside. It seemed to study me, though if it had eyes I couldn’t make them out and I had a feeling that I shouldn’t look for them. The thing was amorphous, or maybe multimorphous; I could see through it as it moved around the periphery of the circle, like a dog might walk around a cage, not touching the ward. It had a tail. Or a leash. As if part of it was being spindled out and anchored to the floor in the center of the circle.
On the floor, where the trail of darkness ended was something shiny and gelatinous. It had to be blood, though I couldn’t smell anything over the tingly magic. I didn’t know much about witch magic, and I knew nothing about blood magic—what many called black magic—but I was pretty sure, based on the blood and the way Beast was acting, that this was a summoning spell.
And that meant the thing in the middle might be a demon.
Crapcrapcrapcrap!
The snoring changed pitch, breaking into my awareness. It had been so regular I had forgotten it. And perhaps the thing-in-the-circle had forgotten it too, because at the change, it whirled and raced to the far side of the ward. It grew horizontal again, and I realized it was spreading wings, diaphanous as mist. It snapped its wings closed and raised its head. I could see a shadow beak, like a hawk’s, open with a cry.
Maybe the thing-in-the-circle had begun to affect me as well, because I could suddenly breathe easier. I pressed down with a front paw, pushing against the floor. My body moved back, sliding. I pulled that paw to me, using the other paw to apply pressure to the floor. Slowly I pushed Beast’s body away from the thing-in-the-circle and back toward the steps.
Jane? Beast thought at me, sounding disoriented.
It’s okay. I got us out. Can you walk?
Beast yawned and shook her head before flowing into a stretch, the kind cats do after a nap. Can walk. But not close to lightning.
The wall on the other side of the room isn’t solid. There’s something on the other side. Can you get us there?
Beast stood, her balance only a little affected. I released control of her body and pulled back, away from the centers of her brain used for motor control. Being in charge of her body—that had felt seriously freaky. Beast walked around the room, her right side sliding along the walls as if she were scent-marking them. Beast pressed a paw against the back wall. It opened with a creak; the section of the wall was a hidden door. Scent spilled out, as if it had been spelled to remain inside, but opening the door broke the ward, releasing it. The thing-in-the-circle thrashed; the sizzle of electricity as it bounded around its cage was like the sound of searing meat. I drew farther into Beast’s mind and let her take over.
Wolf den, I thought to
Jane. I growled. Dropped head, showing teeth. Room was dark, dim light spilling in from behind. Wolves did not attack. I looked back, to see caged thing hitting ward, black lightning sparking. Looked again into room filled with wolf smell. I was smart hunter; would not enter place of darkness. Saw white place on wall, switch for light, and raised up. Lifted switch with paw pad. Light filled room, faster than sunrise. Room was full of big cages, stacked along wall. Like cages in place for doctor of dog.
Only if the dogs are big as ponies, Jane thought.
Only two cages were full. Werewolves. I hacked with laughter. Werewolves in cages. Good. Catch wolves. Cage them. Kill them. I gathered for leap.
No, Jane thought. No killing. Well, not yet.
I hissed. Want to kill wolves. Wolves were in human form. Big hairy male, the one Jane called Fire Truck, and smaller male—Weasel. Sleeping.
Naked again. What is it about Evangelina and nudity.
Smell blood. Wolf blood. Padded close, to see cuts on wolves’ bodies, gaping open, not healed. I stretched out neck, nose to cage, opened mouth. Sniffed/tasted. Smell of poison.
Not poison. Something else. I sniffed again. The cuts won’t heal because she used silver to make them. And the wolves didn’t fight back when she did. They let her. Oh crap. She slipped them a Mickey. Evangelina was the woman with the umbrella at the Cajun restaurant. She tracked them and took them down somehow and brought them here.
Smell vampire blood too. Smell Lincoln Shaddock.
Jane was silent, unable to speak, thinking too fast for Beast to follow.
Spell in witch circle is to summon two-natured, moon-called, I thought. Tried to summon us when we got close. But we are Beast. Better than Jane or big-cat alone. Better than wolves, better than Lincoln vampire. Tilted head. Thought for a moment, thought like Jane. Thinking like Jane hurt. Lincoln Shaddock was dead and undead, two-natured but not two-natured. We are two-natured, but not two-natured. Shook head as if flea nipped at ear. Magic was confusing.
She’s had Shaddock in her bed and basement, wolves in cages, a body in a rug. Jane made blowing sound again, frustrated. You’re right. Perhaps a summoning affected him. Vamps are dead and undead. With the whole being-alive-at-night thing, maybe they’re moon-called too. Weres are two-natured and full-moon-called. Why summon either?