by E. A. Copen
“Huh?” I turned my head and made a confused face.
Doc rolled his eyes. “Base of your neck. Now please turn back around, Judah.”
I shivered as he wiped the base of my neck with an alcohol wipe. “Hold absolutely still, Judah. If you move, the needle could paralyze you or have other unintended consequences.”
I don’t like needles. I especially don’t like needles when I can’t see them. Having five of them jabbed into my neck between two vertebrae in short order was so horrible sounding, even my nightmares hadn’t thought it up.
It wasn’t as bad as I expected. A little cold pressure, a strange rush followed by a wave of nausea, and it was all over. The first one was, anyway. I sat through it four more times before Doc wiped the area one final time and applied a band-aid. “You’ll probably be sore for a while.”
I looked down at my arm in the cast. It didn’t feel any different. “How long until it starts working?”
As if on cue, there was a sudden, burning pain in my arm. I could feel exactly where the break was, where the jagged edges of bone butted against one another. It felt like someone had taken a soldering gun to the bones, forcing them to fuse back together.
“It’s working!” Doc grinned from ear to ear and then pulled out a scary-looking tool with a circular blade attached. “Let’s cut the cast off and you’ll be good to go!”
I was still in doubt. There had to be a drawback to this magic cure, even if I wasn’t seeing it. But hey, I was fit to fight. Now wasn’t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I extended my hand to Doc and turned away, cringing at the sound of him cutting into the cast. “So,” I said, trying to raise my voice over the sound, “where’s Warren? Where are we going?”
Marcus smirked and pulled out onto the road. “We’re going to church.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Saint Phillip’s was an old Spanish mission of adobe and faded red tiles. Surrounded by sagebrush and dry, cracked earth, the church was a forgotten relic down an overgrown path several miles off the highway. It was just shy of dawn when we arrived. Streaks of red and orange colored the sky. Clouds wove through the painted color like mountains in the sky.
An old Oldsmobile was parked conspicuously against the side of the church. My fingers curled against my leg at the sight of it. I raked my teeth against my bottom lip, biting hard until it hurt so bad I couldn’t think. That seemed to keep the images at bay. There, so close to him, I feared they’d come back. I couldn’t afford to be reduced to a quivering mess. That meant I had to keep Warren’s hands off of me at any cost.
Abe turned in his seat and held a Tupperware container out to me. “I took the liberty of securing this from your boyfriend’s truck,” he said. “Smear it on your head, and it will lessen his ability to affect you. You might still feel his pull, but you should be able to resist.”
I took the Tupperware and opened it, recoiling at the smell. The mixture felt thick and grainy on my fingers. “This won’t keep me from healing like it did Reed?”
“No,” Marcus reported. “Unlike Gideon Reed, you aren’t relying on magick to heal your body, but science.”
I smeared the strange mixture on my forehead. If Abe had taken it from Sal, that meant it worked. I trusted Sal enough to believe that. I offered the Tupperware to Creven, who mimicked my movements. Abe refused, saying he had protections of his own in place. I decided it was best to just leave it at that.
“All right,” I said once everyone who was going was protected, “I’m ready to go.”
“There is one more thing,” Abe said. “A gesture of goodwill from Deputy Director Richardson that he feels will be useful in your fight.”
He pointed under my seat.
“This is beginning to feel like I’m on an Oprah episode.” I reached down, and my hand fell on something cool and metallic. When I closed my fingers around it, there was no doubt in my mind what it was.
I pulled the Sword of Light out from under my seat and held it in front of me. There was no mistaking the faint buzz of magick as I held it, but there was something more. Most magick has a feel to it. Magick can be dark and greasy like the ghost I’d fought, or light and crisp like Creven’s magick felt. This magick felt like standing on a tall building to watch the sun rise. Hope. I held hope and light in my hands. There was no way handing that over to Seamus would be a good thing.
Doubt settled in where the hope had been a moment ago. “I don’t know how to use a sword, Abe.”
“We have had this conversation before, and you did fine then.”
“The Sword of Light is no ordinary blade,” Creven said, regarding it with sparkling eyes. “The legends my people tell of it would have you believe a child could pick it up and slay a dragon. It is the sword of heroes.” He smiled at me. “Something tells me you’ll do fine.”
“Once you three are out, I’ll take the doctor to safety.” Marcus unlocked the doors. “Agent Helsinki, you know how to contact me. If I haven’t heard from you in a few hours, I’ll assume you failed and that you’re dead. I, of course, will deny any involvement.”
“Encouraging.”
“And if Warren gets away like last time?” Creven asked.
My grip tightened around the sword, and I felt the rush of magick flow out of me and down into it. “Warren is mine. I’m not letting him get away. I’ll drag him to Hell with me if I have to. He doesn’t get to walk away, not this time.”
I pulled the door handle and climbed out of the SUV, walking around to stand in front of the church. There wasn’t much of a path leading up to it, but there was a place where no plants grew. The dust was heavier going in a narrow line up to the door. There was a loud thump as Creven and Abe closed their respective doors and came to stand beside me.
Abe checked the shotgun he carried to make sure it was loaded.
Creven paused, dusted himself off, and shifted his grip on his staff. “Lass, I feel there’s something you should know before we walk in there together.”
“Save it,” I said and took my first step forward. “There’ll be time after.”
We walked up to the door. It was an old, rotten slab of wood, broken down by time and the elements. Heavy, iron chains that once served to secure the building now hung in pieces, fine red desert dust half-burying them. The door creaked loudly as I pushed it open.
The sanctuary had no ceiling. Dust danced in the pillars of early morning light that filtered through the holes in the walls. Broken half-round shapes cast strange shadows over ancient pews that no longer sat in a line. They’d been moved against the walls or placed about haphazardly. The way they were arranged reminded me of barricades. Some of them were broken, some burned. Others held the carved initials of lovers forgotten by time. The adobe walls had been the victim of spray paint and decay, the artwork ranging from swastikas to poetry.
The raised platform at the front of the church stood empty but for several dozen lit candles. Their tiny flames danced at the feet of Christ on the cross. His face was missing, chipped away by vandals. The cross was huge, taking up almost the whole wall. With the marred life-sized iron sculpture of Christ on it, it must’ve weighed several hundred pounds.
Creven, Abe, and I stepped into the empty church, letting the doors swing closed behind us. “Warren!” I called, stepping farther in and avoiding a hole in the floor. “Show yourself! We know you’re here!”
A door on the far side of the front stage to the right of the cross, opened, and Warren strode out. He’d had a change of clothes since I’d last seen him, changing out his cassock for a black suit and polished shoes. His collar was pristine white. A silver cross hung from around his neck on a thick chain. His green eyes danced back and forth at a rapid pace. Just our luck. Warren was on rem.
“I was wondering who they would send,” he said, stepping in front of the cross. “I’m not surprised they sent you, only that you’re well enough to stand. You’ve made a rather swift recovery, Judah Black.”
I shifted the sword. �
��I had help.”
“So did I, before your help gunned them down in cold blood.” Warren stepped down off the dais. “You’re no hero. You’re a murderer just like me.”
I stopped halfway to the front of the church. There was no room to cross here except over two rickety-looking boards. It wasn’t a far drop into the church’s foundation, but it’d be a good way to break my ankle if I wasn’t careful.
“You’ve come to kill me.” He spread his arms wide. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? They created me, both of us. They put this thing in my head, gave me these powers.” He looked down at his hands. “What was I supposed to do with them? Grow plants? Raise followers to protect those plants?” He swept an arm wide. “I was meant for more than life as a simple farmer! I am a god among men, and they have sent an ant to silence me.”
Creven stopped behind me and planted his staff. “We can make it painless and quick, but only if you don’t fight.”
Warren raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You would be so generous?”
“He would,” Abe said, “but I will not. You do not get to go easily after causing so much pain and suffering.”
“My hands are clean,” Warren sneered. “It was Hector who killed your friend, the priest. If the priest hadn’t interfered, he would still live. And the girl...Mira, she was your fault, Judah. You forced my hand!”
My hands tightened around the sword. “Mara. Her name was Mara!”
Warren smiled, clearly unmoved. “I have no intention of dying today.” His eyes shifted to something behind me. “Kill them.”
I turned, swinging the sword as I did, but I was too clumsy with it. It was a good thing, too, because it was Ed who was behind me.
Ed.
Warren had gotten to Ed.
Panic rose in my throat as he dodged my swing with ease before grabbing my arm and twisting it until I dropped the sword. I reached for my magick, pumping it into my muscles when I drew back to punch him in the face.
Abe had drawn his hand back like claws and readied a killing blow.
“No,” I choked out. “He’s controlling him!”
Abe paused, and at that moment, Amanda, Hector’s wife and Warren’s mother, appeared behind him with a bat in her hand. She swung it, and it struck him in the head with a resounding crack.
Creven moved, swinging his staff to strike at Amanda, but something in the air changed. It thickened, and suddenly it felt like we were all struggling underwater. The smell of wet earth and the crack of magick tore through the room as a loud voice boomed, “Enough!”
My arm froze where it was, unable to move. The same magick that held me kept Creven, Amanda, Abe, and Hector where they were. I shook with the need to move, fighting the magick, but it was too strong. I couldn’t even blink.
Footsteps stomped across the raised dais. The narrow boards over the open floor creaked. From the corner of my eye, I saw a figure bend over and take up the sword. My anger flared when I recognized that polished silver armor. Seamus.
He held the sword upright, staring at his reflection in the polished blade before he lowered it and snarled, “Let them go. The bargain is complete.”
The spell released me, and I almost tumbled forward. I used the momentum to fall to my knees beside Abe and check him. He swatted me away but put a hand to his bleeding head.
“Bargain?” Warren snarled up on the dais. “The bargain was I get you the sword and you get me out of here!”
Seamus turned on Warren, a bored expression on his face. “I believe the exact words of our agreement were that I would provide you with an escape.” Seamus turned and smiled a wicked smile at me. “There it is. You need only put them down and walk through the door to your freedom.”
Warren looked at me, then back at Seamus, licking his lips. I knew that look. He was deciding whether Seamus had cheated him or not and if it was worth the confrontation.
“I see how it is,” I said, stumbling forward. “You used us, all of us, to get that stupid sword. Warren takes the fall for all of it, and your hands are clean.”
“It could have been different,” Seamus said, shrugging. “You turned down my offer. I warned you there would be consequences.”
I turned my attention to Warren. “No matter where you run, they’ll find you. You know that. What kind of god lives his life on the run from a government?”
Warren slowly turned his head to glare at Seamus.
Seamus sighed and shifted the sword. “Think this over, Warren. Think about who I am. Do you really want to fight me?”
“Yes!” Warren screamed and dove forward. He latched onto the side of Seamus’ head, just as he’d done to me and...nothing.
Nothing happened.
The sword moved so fast I didn’t see it. One minute, Warren’s fingers were digging into Seamus’ temples. The next, his arm was on the floor and he was bleeding everywhere. Warren screamed and stumbled back, desperately holding the stump of his arm.
“I did warn him,” Seamus said.
An enraged scream cut through the room. All eyes turned to Amanda who stood, breathing heavy, staring at her hands. She raised her wild eyes and focused on Seamus.
Amanda screamed again and took off running. She jumped on Seamus’ back, throwing him off-balance. When she wrapped her hands around his throat from behind, he was faced with the choice to either drop the sword or let her strangle him. Even Faerie Kings need to breathe.
I seized the opportunity and rushed forward to take the sword back up again, but Warren kicked it out of reach when he stumbled on it. He fell, slamming his back into the wall.
Seamus finally ripped Amanda off him and tossed her against the wall next to Warren. The impact was hard enough it rattled the cross that hung there. Amanda’s head slumped forward, and she lay still.
Seamus stumbled forward and fell, his arm outstretched, reaching for the sword that waited just out of reach.
I got there first.
I picked up the sword and stomped on his hand. He cried out as the bones cracked, but I ground my shoe in harder. He shook as he raised his head to look at me. “You’re going to regret that,” he spat.
Creven’s staff came down hard on the back of Seamus’ head, followed by a baseball bat that flew across the room. I turned and saw Abe struggling with Ed, doing his best to keep the werewolf off him without hurting him. Ed had his claws in Abe’s gut, his eyes glowing brilliant gold, but Abe had still managed to throw the bat. Abe swung a fist and made contact with the side of Ed’s face, freeing himself.
I turned back to Seamus. The double-tap put him down but not out. Seamus groaned and rolled his head back and forth.
“Quick,” Creven urged. “Finish this while he’s out.”
I raised the sword, ready to put it through Warren, but hesitated as he cried out to his God. His head fell forward, and his shoulders shook as he began to weep. “God, why? Why have you turned your back on me?”
“It’s you who turned your back on Him, Warren. You can’t claim to be God and then ask him to save you!”
Warren’s shoulders stopped shaking. He lifted his head. “Do you think...after all I’ve done…” His chin shook and he set his jaw to stop it. “No, I don’t want forgiveness. I want to live!”
Warren made a grab for the sword.
I reacted out of instinct, throwing a magick-laced punch that struck Warren in the face. He flew back, slamming into the wall hard enough to send a crack racing up the rotten wood behind him.
This time, the heavy cross came loose from the rotten wall. It tumbled down and landed on both Warren and Amanda. Hard. The wood and iron fell on them with a loud crunch of bone and a wet smack. Warren’s limbs twitched, but he made no further movement. Blood poured from where his head would have been under the weight of the cross.
Amanda let out a loud and desperate cry of pain. It had fallen over her middle just below the rib cage. Creven and I ran to the cross and tried to move it, but the iron was too much for Creven. He hissed and pulled his hands away, steaming
. “I’m of no use here, lass.”
“Abe!” I shouted. He sat opposite Ed on the floor, both with their hands loosely around each other’s necks, dazed looks on their faces.
I grunted with effort, trying to lift it, but the cross was too heavy. I couldn’t budge it. “A little help!”
Creven nodded. “I’ll get them.” He started to move toward the doors but scrambled to a stop when Seamus loomed in front of him.
Seamus glared down at Creven, gold eyes firm and uncaring. Blood raced down from a cut on Seamus’ forehead. “I’ll have the sword. Now.”
“You’ll back away. Now,” Creven said in response, readying his staff.
Seamus’ mouth turned up in a smirk. “You of all people should know better than to challenge me, Creven.”
Amanda coughed up blood, and her fingers tightened on mine. “Please, I don’t want to die. Not with him.”
“I need help now!” I shouted. “She’s dying!”
“She’s of no consequence to me,” said Seamus with a shrug. “I am here for the sword and make no mistake, I am taking it with me.”
“Even if she were t’give it to ya, I’d still stand in yer way.” Creven lowered his head.
I put all my effort and magick into moving the cross, but it wouldn’t budge. Even with all my power, I couldn’t lift something that heavy. “Claíomh Solais will never be yours,” Creven said. “I’ll die before I let it go with you.”
Seamus let out a deep laugh. “I dare you to stop me.”
Creven shifted his staff half an inch, maybe only a quarter. Seamus lifted a single finger and Creven, the strongest and most skilled practitioner I knew, went flying back, helpless. He slammed into the wall and then through it into the tiny graveyard behind the church. Creven rolled to a stop and struck the back of his head against a headstone. He groaned once before his head fell forward limply.
Seamus smiled, made a satisfied noise, and turned to me, hand outstretched. “Now, the sword, if you please.”
Chapter Thirty-Two