Odysseus chuckled and then he looked at Tessa. “And Miss Kang, don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting face to face like this. Heard a lot about you, though. And I must say, you were definitely worth the wait.”
“I think you know this isn’t a social call, Black,” said Alistair.
The grin faded from Odysseus’ face. “Yeah. Kinda put that shit together on my own. What’s this about? You still tryin’ to cure your boy, Cross?”
“Luther Cross is dead,” said Tessa.
Odysseus’ brows crinkled together and he pursed his lips. Then he laughed. “C’mon, now. You fuckin’ with me, right?”
Alistair remained stone-faced as he smoked his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke through his nostrils and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. She’s telling the truth. Killed by Asmodeus.”
“So Asmodeus is back in control of Chi-town?”
“No, he’s been imprisoned in Cocytus.”
Odysseus laughed again. “Well shit, son. This calls for a celebration!” He signaled to Sammy. “Yo, Sammy. Go grab that bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue from above the bar an’ get us three glasses. We gonna have a toast!”
“You seem pretty happy about this,” said Tessa as she heard the door open and Sammy leave.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Odysseus. “Demons been runnin’ this town for too long. I was ready to make a play after the last time Asmodeus went missin’, but chose to bide my time. Then Cross swooped in and took it all away from me. Now I don’t have to wait. So I appreciate the good news.”
“That’s not why we’re here,” said Alistair. “We’re here because we need the book.”
Sammy came back in the room and walked behind the desk. He set down the three glasses and filled each with scotch, then passed them around. Once he finished, he returned to his station in front of the door.
Odysseus picked up his glass and took a sip. “What makes you think I’d give you the book?”
“We need Luther.” Alistair’s hand went into his pocket and Tessa saw him take the coin out again, twirling it once more between his fingers. “He’s important to the future. I think you know that as well as I do.”
“What can I do? He’s dead.”
“It’s rumored that the Book of Metatron has a resurrection spell. A way to restore a soul to the body.”
Odysseus shook his head. “Do I look like a fuckin’ genie? You hear Robin Williams’ voice comin’ outta my mouth or some shit? You see my black ass tornadoing from a boom box like Shaq?”
“No,” said Alistair.
“No, you don’t,” said Odysseus. “I’m not here to grant you any goddamn wishes, Carraway. Cross was one tough bastard, I’ll give ’im that, and I respected him. But he also made some real powerful enemies. And if I contributed to resurrecting him from the dead, those enemies would become my own. I didn’t live this long by bein’ a fuckin’ moron and I’m not about to start now.”
“Guess it was a waste of time coming down here.” Alistair stood.
“Damn right it was,” said Odysseus.
“Come along, Tessa. Suppose we’ll have to try something else.”
Tessa looked confused at how quick Alistair was to give up, but she stood and followed him to the door. Sammy opened and held it open for them.
“Alistair, one more thing,” said Odysseus.
Alistair turned around. “What?”
“I ain’t gonna help you. But hope you find some closure.”
Alistair nodded and left the room. Tessa followed him out the door to the bar and across the street back to his rental. He got into the driver’s seat and she went around to the passenger side.
“What was that all about?” she asked. “I figured you’d put up more of a fight than that.”
“Wouldn’t have made a difference. There’s no way Black would ever give us the book,” said Alistair.
“So what was the point of all this?” she asked.
“To drop something off,” he said.
Tessa remembered the coin Alistair kept twirling ever since they got here. The last time she saw it was in his hand when they were sitting in Odysseus’ office. And now, she didn’t see it anywhere. Alistair held out his open hand, palm facing up. It was empty.
“The coin,” she said. “What’s it do?”
“I’ll tell you later. First, we’ve got to get ready.” Alistair started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“What do you mean ‘we’? I thought I was pretty clear before—I can’t help you go against Black,” said Tessa.
Alistair stopped at a red light and sighed. He reached in his jacket for his cigarettes, then took one out and lit it. “I need your help with this, Tess. I know you’re scared, but this is at least a two-man job and you’re the only one I can trust.”
Tessa looked out the window with a huff. Though she didn’t want to say it out loud, she was scared. Odysseus Black was not only powerful, but dangerous, too. She also knew Luther’s importance.
“What’s your plan?” she asked.
“Later. First, we have to make preparations.”
The light turned green and Alistair stepped on the gas.
9
Nimuel put a mixture of herbs into a stone mortar, including sage, allspice, garlic, and mandrake. He crushed and mixed them together with the pestle as the light of the moon shined down on us. The villagers stood around us in colorful tribal clothing, holding torches. Their clothing wasn’t all that different from Nimuel, though my assumption was they only pulled these out for occasions such as this.
Dakota sat on the ground with Malcolm in her arms and Shelly was beside her, holding Dakota’s hand with her head bowed in prayer. I saw a rosary hanging from Shelly’s other hand. Made me wonder how with everything she’d seen, she could still find comfort in her Catholic faith. Guess that was how faith worked, though. Couldn’t be explained, wasn’t always rational, but people relied on it all the same.
Malcolm was staring at me with his violet eyes and I looked right back at him. He giggled and reached for me. I smiled back and held out my hand. As soon as his tiny fingers passed through mine, he retracted his arm and cooed with excitement.
Don’t worry, little man. After tonight, no one will be able to find you.
Nimuel took the pestle out and set it on the ground beside him. He looked at Dakota and held out the mortar for her. “It’s time,” he said.
Dakota passed Malcolm over to Shelly and took the bowl. Nimuel looked at Alvin and nodded. The young man stepped away from the crowd and reached for his belt where a ceremonial dagger was sheathed. He drew the blade out and knelt down, holding it in outstretched hands for Dakota.
She balanced the mortar in her lap and took the blade offered to her. Dakota drew the knife across her open palm and winced. She made a fist and squeezed the blood into the mortar, coating the herbs already inside.
“Good, that’s enough,” said Nimuel.
Another of his followers, a young woman named Jasmine, stepped forward and Dakota held out her hand. Jasmine wrapped it with gauze to stop the bleeding.
“Now Shelly,” said Nimuel.
Shelly passed the baby back to his mother and took the mortar and dagger. She repeated the same action as Dakota had, mixing her blood in with Dakota’s and the herbs. Just as she had with Dakota, Jasmine wrapped Shelly’s hand. Nimuel took the mortar and knife.
“And finally…” Nimuel looked at Malcolm.
“I don’t know about this…” said Dakota.
“Don’t worry, we just need a drop from him,” said Nimuel. “It will be over quick.
Dakota hesitantly held her baby up. She smiled at him and he smiled back. She rested him on her knee and pulled up his pant leg. Nimuel came forward and made some noises at the baby, which he seemed to appreciate.
“Hey kid,” I said, drawing Malcolm’s attention away from Nimuel. He stared at me with curiosity. “It’ll all be over in a minute. Don’t worry, I used to do this kind of thing
all the time.”
I’d kept Malcolm distracted long enough for Nimuel to prick him with the knife. As soon as he did, Malcolm started crying and looked down. Jasmine knelt down beside him and put a bandage on his small wound. No bigger than a pinprick—just a drop, as Nimuel had promised.
The babaylan picked up the pestle again and mixed the blood and herbs together, mashing them into a fine paste. The addition of holy water helped to thin it out enough for him to do what needed to be done. Nimuel dipped his hands into the mixture and knelt in front of Dakota. She closed her eyes as he reached his fingers towards her. He rubbed the mixture on her face, drawing a sigil over her features as he spoke in Latin. He repeated the process with Malcolm and Shelly. Finally, he used the rest of the mixture to draw a sigil on the ground. Once it was finished, Shelly and Dakota sat in the center, holding the baby.
I felt guilty watching Nimuel work. This was supposed to be my job, but I couldn’t do a damn thing to help. I’d managed to get them this far, so that was something, I supposed. Just didn’t feel like enough. Felt like I’d let them down.
Nimuel started to chant in Latin. He closed his eyes and held his arms out to the sides. Probably wasn’t the kind of magic he was used to performing, but Lucifer’s spell was pretty specific. I just hoped it would work and that they’d be protected, at least temporarily.
Then what?
That was the question running through my mind. Lucifer said the spell would only be temporary, not permanent. To do something permanent, they’d need to find who Malcolm’s father was. And then? That was the part I wasn’t clear on. Lucifer was going to give me more to go on at that point, but how could that happen now that I was dead?
I had to hope Alistair hadn’t gone senile on me and that he actually had a workable plan for putting my soul back in my body. That also raised some questions now that I was buried. Would any decomposition that had already started go away or would I look like a walking corpse? I cringed at the thought of looking in the mirror every morning and seeing rotted flesh. Ah hell with it, plastic surgery could work wonders these days, maybe I’d be able to get myself fixed up.
I pulled myself from my thoughts and focused on Nimuel. And that was when I saw something interesting. Normally, magical energy was invisible to the naked eye. But now I was seeing things on a whole other level. It was an entire spectrum of colors all streaming around him, trailing behind the movements of his arms. Like he was finger-painting with the universe.
The energy moved slow and methodically, branching off into other paths and colors. It circled around the sigil and moved through Dakota, Shelly, and Malcolm. The energy wrapped around them, containing them in semi-translucent cocoons. The whole thing seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. Slowly, things seemed to return to normal. If I concentrated, I could see they were still encased in those multicolored shells. But otherwise, they were invisible.
Nimuel looked right at me. “Luther…” he began to say.
I didn’t need him to finish, I’d sensed the same thing he did. I slowly turned around and saw it. It was like a cloud of black smoke given form. No legs that I could see, but definitely arms that ended in what looked like clawed fingers. It was completely featureless, with the exception of the glowing red eyes that narrowed at me. I heard a screech not unlike nails on a chalkboard. It sent a shudder through every inch of my body.
A wraith had found me and its cry only got louder before it started to come after me.
“Luther, go!” Nimuel shouted at me.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I turned and broke into a run, trying to put as much distance between myself and the wraith as possible. Stopping those terrorists earlier and then the power of the spell must have been like a beacon to the wraith. And I had no idea how the hell I’d escape this thing.
I ran down the mountain, moving as fast as possible. Even though I didn’t have a body, it still felt like I did. Those old sensations were still running through me. I took a glance over my shoulder and saw the wraith was still on my tail.
How was I going to get rid of it? How did other ghosts deal with these things? If wraiths were supposed to police the veil, why is it I still had to deal with the undead bastards on occasion? That poltergeist I took care of in Deerfield? Nothing. The haunted apartment where Cabrini-Green used to be? Nada. But I do one little ghost-trick and before you can say Ernie Hudson, I’ve got a wraith on my ass. Some guys just have all the luck.
Besides, what kind of tricks would work on these bastards anyway? I might not have my weapons anymore, but something had to keep them back. Other ghosts were able to stay away from them, so I should have been able to as well.
I was already down the mountain. The wraith was still following me as I ran into the forest. I ran through trees and brushes, but the wraith was able to do the same. How long could I realistically keep this up? Something had to be done.
I had an idea. Not necessarily a good one, but it was something. I came to a stop and concentrated. I didn’t know if ghosts could use magic anymore—or if it would even work on a wraith—but there was one power I had that went beyond the body. Angels and demons were able to tap into the power of their souls—that’s how they used soulfire and hellfire.
Being half-demon, I had that power for a time, though it seemed to have gone away after I snapped out of my Dark Luther phase. But I was dead now, so maybe the rules had changed. Maybe I could use the hellfire again.
I stood firm as the wraith came at me. I tried to concentrate, attempting to will the power into my hands. Something was there, deep inside me, but just out of reach. And the wraith was getting closer.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”
I glanced down at my hands and saw sparks beginning to appear around my fingers. Just needed a little bit more. Enough to at least blast it back. My arms tingled, a charge running through them. The wraith was getting closer and closer.
The hellfire wasn’t working. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. The wraith’s terrible screech echoed all around me. And all I could think of was one thing: I’m sorry, Dakota.
And then, everything was calm. I took a chance and opened my eyes. I wasn’t in the forest anymore. Now I was on a beach. And I was standing knee-deep in the ocean. But what was even stranger was I could feel it.
I started to laugh as I bent over and splashed the water, bringing a handful up to my face. How did this happen? Did Alistair and Tessa do it? Did they already manage resurrect me?
“I know what you’re thinking.”
The voice came from the beach. I looked up from the water and I saw a man with brown skin and long, black hair laying on a hammock tied between two palm trees. He wore swimming trunks and sunglasses, drinking through a straw out of a coconut shell.
I walked onto the dry sand and came closer to him. He continued sucking up his drink through the straw. I looked around and couldn’t see anything other than the sand and the ocean for miles.
“Where am I?” I asked. “And who are you?”
“For starters, I’ll tell you that you’re still a ghost,” he said. “As for me, you and I have a mutual friend. Nimuel.”
“You’re his spirit guide,” I said.
“His abyan, yes. One of them at least. He called on me to help you with the wraith on your ass. So I brought you here.”
“And here is…?”
“Consider it my retirement home,” he said. “But you can only stay so long. Not only because it’s not allowed, but also because you still have work to do.”
“I take it Nimuel filled you in on everything,” I said.
The abyan nodded. “He did.”
I shrugged. “So what do I do? If the wraiths are already on my tail…”
“You’ve lost them for now, but they’ll be back. In the meantime, you have to do some searching for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to go back to the beginning, find your guide.”
“Why can’t you b
e my guide?” I asked. “Here I thought that was kind of the whole point of a spirit guide.”
The abyan chuckled. “It’s not me, Luther. I don’t know you, I have no connection to you. And I have my own work to do. I have to help Nimuel and your friends.”
“Are they going to be okay?” I asked.
“I can’t see the future. All I can tell you is you’ve set them on a path and it’s time to pursue yours. If you both stay on your paths and get to where you need to go, I’m confident those paths will cross again at some point.”
“So I’m on a spiritual journey of sorts, huh?”
The abyan climbed out of the hammock and put a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to be careful out there. Not just the wraiths, but there are other things after you. News of your death has no doubt spread by now and there are some powerful people out there who want to see you eliminated from existence.”
“Do you know who?” I asked.
The abyan shook his head. “All I can tell you is there are powerful forces aligned against you. I can’t see more than that.”
“So what now?” I asked. “Do I click my heels three times and say ‘there’s no place like home’?”
The abyan laughed. Then he smashed the coconut against my head and everything went black.
10
The Styx is the name given to the rivers that flow between the worlds. No one in existence has ever traversed the length of these waters, save for the mysterious ferryman known as Charon. His long, narrow boat moved slowly through the river, cries of the damned souls who attempted to escape bubbling up from the waters below.
The boat came to a stop on a riverbank and Charon raised his oar. A land-bridge rose at his silent command and he stepped to the side so his passenger could exit. Pyriel was the boat’s only passenger and he rose from his seat and moved for the boat’s exit. He looked Charon, staring into the white eyes that glowed against the darkness of his hood.
“You know the rules, ferryman,” said Pyriel. “No one is to know of this meeting.”
Charon nodded. “I’m bound to reveal nothing of the souls I ferry.”
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