Grave Sacrifice
Page 3
“Helpful.” I leaned around the corner to check out the kitchen. “But this damn MiRA company has been shadowing me ever since I came to this town. No such thing as a coincidence.”
“You can’t walk a block without seeing a Starbucks. Maybe it’s like that?” she offered, blandly scouting around the room. “Can we get back to Saint Augustine? I’ve got a shift at the park coming up.”
Was she being serious? She caught my incredulous stare.
“What? Caleb and I have a thing.”
“A thing?”
“A thing.”
That so. I guess a lot happened on their road trip to Natchez.
“Whatever, but this MiRA isn’t any Starbucks. This is different,” I insisted, brushing past.
Araceli shrugged again. I thought I saw her perk up about something near the front door but didn’t follow. I had better things to do than argue.
The kitchen wasn’t much more than a washbasin sink and a wood stove. A refrigerator older than Kitterling’s antique occupied one wall. My boss, no, partner, back in Saint Augustine was into history but not this level of inconvenience. The latched cabinet must’ve been a vintage icebox, no power. My focus though was the corner near the back door.
Another bowl was on the floor. This one had been turned right side up, the salt scattered. I toed the chunks, irregular crystals some the size of lost teeth. Sea salt but which sea? Fortune had been out to keep away some very specific nasty.
“Araceli, stay alert, there might be—”
A Catalan curse tore through the silence. The thud that followed trembled through the soles of my Timbs. I raced for the front room, gun raised.
Araceli lay on the floor, knives glittering next to her outstretched fingertips. The partly closed front door exposed a band of shadow. A snaking limb, the color of polished onyx and the size of a fire hose retreated into the black.
Hustling toward her with my gun in one outstretched hand, demon slaying sword in the other felt like some bullshit pirate movie. Both arms should be braced for a steady aim. I searched for a target and came up empty but caught Araceli’s fierce stare. Muscles strained in her neck and only her eyes rolled, first to me then back to the corner.
She couldn’t move. Paralyzed. Her neck and face flushed with the strain.
I dropped to one knee at her shoulder and set down the Shaw Sword to free up a hand. Her gaze went into white-rimmed panic.
Wherever she’d been struck, no blood marked the entry wound. Finding an opening in her strapped and buckled armor would take too much time. Time I didn’t have.
The front door slammed closed. Light through the curtained windows waned like an eclipse had gone down. Blackness spilled from the doorway.
That same serpentine appendage snaked out from the shadows. Segmented and tipped with a hooked barb every bit as long as Araceli’s knives, it probed the air, searching for downed prey. I struggled to drag her clear as the rest of the beast emerged.
It pressed up through the shadows from the back as if it had been molded from the stuff of pure darkness. The humanoid creature had thin, glossy limbs like a skeleton wrapped in wet latex. The barbed tail might have come from his backside, but I couldn’t see where or if it attached. Its face had only the suggestion of a mouth beneath stretched skin and sunken pits for eyes.
Those black pits burned with fire. The monster rolled its neck, a voice coming out from the blank mouth.
“The cameras indeed see you, shaman. They will record your death.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I hadn’t dragged Araceli far before the tail coiled, ready to strike. Damn. So I’d set the blade down for a free hand to drag her with. I still had my gun.
“You aren’t the only one with a stinger.”
Two hands steadied, I emptied the clip center mass.
Gunshots cracked like thunder in the cramped shack. Forty caliber rounds could punch holes in steel plates, stagger charging demons — been there, done that. This dude?
I gave him all twelve. One after another they pancaked on his chest and clattered to the floor.
My sights dropped along limp arms. A stubborn fragment clung to the demon’s chest. It plucked the hunk of steel from folds of shadow and rolled it between its fingers before casting it aside.
“Yours is lacking,” it crowed.
I felt more than saw the giant stinger hooking from behind me. I fell flat across Araceli as this new barbed tail slashed the air and embedded into the wall. I had just enough time to wrap her up and roll toward the open bedroom.
The new tail struggling to free itself extended from a pool of shadow near the kitchen. The demon at the front door growled, his original stinger still dancing. Did he bring his crew along or was that one attached to him too?
Furniture leaped and scraped the hardwood floor all across the front room. More barbed tails crawled from beneath the sunken curve of the couch and within the darkened corners. Seizing Araceli’s collar, I fell backward into the bedroom.
Still on my back, I hooked a boot on the door and slammed it shut. A key hung from the lock and I turned it and snapped it off. Araceli gave a frustrated cry, her frightened gaze fixed outside like I’d shut off our only means of escape. Or, maybe, our only means of salvation.
The sword. I’d left the sword out there.
“I could drag your ass or hang on to the sword, your pick,” I grumbled, slamming my sidearm into the shoulder holster and scrambling for the window.
Outside had gone dim and muted like the bottom of the ocean. Shadows at first looked like trees, but the more I stared, they took on slender, whipping shapes like the upright tails of scorpions patrolling the perimeter.
Had we dropped into the Below?
No. I’d have sensed weakened boundaries. Araceli’s magic lenses should’ve seen something too. We didn’t catch on until Scorpion just appeared.
Could somebody complete a ritual through the camera? A summoning?
Door shut, the atmosphere grew murky. Araceli’s eyes darted at the shadows. She gave another strangled cry and blinked. I dragged her further into the room.
Her eye movements grew more insistent. She seemed to be tracing a path and I followed. Her bandoleer.
Vials studded the loops, many still empty from her assault in Mississippi. What they did, I had no idea. Greenish wisps swirled and amber liquid oozed against the glass capsules. Some I couldn’t see inside. Was she looking for an antidote? A weapon? I’d seen the devastation she’d caused. Force-feeding her a vial of acid wouldn’t do us a damn bit of good.
“Alchemy lessons another time,” I said. “Or maybe you invest in one of those label makers.”
The bedroom door rattled. I drew Atofo’s knife, my ritual blade and weapon of last resort. Sharp as always, the mysterious metal forged by the revered Two Spirits had cut plenty demons before. But you had to get close.
I cleared my lungs and stared at the door. Araceli continued frantically blinking. Probably the knife worried her as much as the demon outside. Maybe once Atofo’s powers had saved her life, she’d chill on me about them.
I went to open a cut on my arm and stopped, searching the gathering dark. Shadow was also Kibaga’s turf. Was he around the corner? Could I maybe call him instead? Once planted, the idea wouldn’t let go.
The door jumped in the frame and I poised protectively over Araceli. Blood ritual or blood calling, it’s whatever. Either way, I got deeper into debt with these spirits. I closed my eyes and reached out, calling for that warrior soul which I’d first found just up the road from here. My faith, Araceli had called it.
“Kibaga, if you’re there, I sure could use a swig of your power.”
I opened my eyes. Shadows felt heavy with power. I heard the old rocker in the corner creak and my eyes went there, searching. I crept forward, willing the cloak to slip out from underneath and drape my shoulders. Embraced, protected, I’d kick down that door and show Scorpion out there some finishing moves.
“Bring it home,
K,” I whispered softly, coaxing the mysterious energy out into the open. Ancestral? Adopted? I didn’t much care where the power came from, but I needed to feel it surging through me again. I needed to know I hadn’t given it away for good. “Come on now.”
Shadows beneath the rocker stirred.
I got Atofo’s knife up just as a band of inky chitin shot out. The curved barb clacked against the flat of the blade and withdrew, striking again as fast as I parried.
Somehow I batted the next jab away. Then another. Hunched, circling, light on my feet, I tried to maintain distance, ready to move any direction, my body between Araceli and the tail. The blade turned away another slashing strike. But the hooked stinger brushed my forearm. No cut, but my skin went numb anyway.
But I’d torn open a gash along the tail, precise and clean like a surgical incision. The shell split to show a glistening sludge. Atofo’s knife could wound, but I lacked the leverage to cut right through. Another attack came in fast and hard, aiming for my face.
I ducked and stumbled backward over Araceli. I could almost translate her strangled Catalan curses. I added my own as my forearm caught the edge of the nightstand and the knife twisted from my grip. I dropped down hard on my ass on top of a scattered pile of magazines.
Unarmed, defenseless, the tail arched above for a killing blow.
I grabbed a thick stack of magazines and raised them. The improvised shield shuddered against the violent blow, my arms straining as the barbed point tore through the cover of a Sports Illustrated printed back when the Miami Dolphins were a winning team.
The tail whipped away, taking my shield. It thrashed to clear the chunk of glossy print, smashed into a wall, scraping, but the dense stack only crumpled. I snatched up Atofo’s knife. Maybe now I could saw that bitch in half.
Araceli screeched again. Her eyes were moving like mad. She motioned with her chin again toward her bandoleer.
I’d bought time and didn’t want to waste it. The bedroom door thumped and splintered along the bottom. Then the bed twitched, lurching out from the wall. Another stinger was coming through.
“Damn,” I muttered. We’d be overrun soon. I fell beside Araceli. “Okay, what?”
I followed her chin toward the left strap of her crossed bandoleer. She blinked.
“This one?” I said, touching the first capsule filled with a dayglo purple sludge. I was so wrong, she very nearly shook her paralyzed head. The embedded tail kept smashing around the room, trying to free itself while the other rose from behind the bed like a waking nightmare. I was about to take up Atofo’s knife again then she blinked. Six times. I counted six vials down the loops and came to a metal cannister close to her belt. Araceli’s eyes went wide and she barely, almost imperceptibly, nodded.
I found a small raised bump on the bottom edge of the cylinder. A switch? She gave an almost full nod this time as my fingers brushed it. The poison had to be wearing off.
She flung her gaze to the thrashing tail and squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“Here’s hoping you aren’t the suicide vest type.” I flicked the switch and tossed the cannister at the tail. No damn clue what would happen, I threw myself across her.
The device struck the tail and ricocheted. With an unsatisfying clatter, it hit the floor, bounced, and rolled aimlessly under the rocking chair, a thin warble of metal on wood ending with a loud clunk.
I propped up on my elbows, my face inches from Araceli’s.
“Seriously?”
She’d kept her eyes squeezed tight.
I heard a click and the room went silent. Even the thrashing tails seemed to notice. They hung in midair, suddenly wary. I flattened and covered my head.
Light seared through my closed eyelids. With the light came a wave of power so undeniably from the Above, I felt my heart flutter and nearly drift away with the roiling blast wave. Pure joy and elation filled me almost to bursting and tears streaked my cheeks.
I was shouting when the wave finally receded. Head pounding, veined afterimage of my irises burned into my sight, I dared to peek.
Like a bug bomb, the murk had been blasted away. A soft glow dusted the room, spread perfectly even from wall to wall. Shadows had been obliterated like the air itself gave off the light. Even the tiniest speck of dust on the floor was radiant. Aging magazines and newspapers glowed with a yellowing, incandescent warmth.
A shriek filled the front room. Against that perfect glow, inky shadows crawled through the space between the cracked door and the floor.
“You got any more of that?” I hefted Araceli off the floor and onto the bed. I searched her belt. No more Mojo Flashbangs. “Will you be safe in here now?”
Her eyes flared and shot an insistent glance toward the front room. She didn’t need words, foreign or otherwise. She was on about the sword again.
“Right, cuss me later.” Slipping Atofo’s knife back into my wrist sheath, I wiped my palms on my pants. “Demon slaying time.”
With a shout, one kick, turned the door into splinters and I rolled forward into the main room. While we were in the room, the limbs had multiplied. Stinging barbs formed a squirming curtain like Spanish Moss around the door frame. When I came up from the roll, I was surrounded.
It’s whatever. I had the sword.
Scorpion hadn’t touched the ancient blade. Just the presence had created a barrier to the searching tails. They darted around it like someone testing a flame with their bare hands. I gave them a closeup demonstration.
I could feel the Shaw Sword’s magic surging through my fingers, running deep into my bones like wildfire. One broad slice and three tails fell twitching to the floor, their shadowy ends bleeding a cloud of swirling darkness.
Another tried to curl in and strike from behind. I wasn’t having any of it. Without looking, I swung a sweeping arc behind me and split that one down the middle.
I turned to face the demon at the front door and took up a bullshit Kung Fu stance. Swords? I didn’t know how to use a sword. Batons? Sure. But there wasn’t much training from BPD beyond how not to get sued for excessive force.
I tried to count the remaining tails. Was this a limited number or more like some Greek myth where they’d keep growing, multiplying, until even the demon slaying sword wouldn’t be enough?
“You ready to go ‘head up out of here, or get eaten?” I said, trying to ride the sword’s intimidation factor.
“I haven’t eaten in thousands of years,” it replied, its voice a cold, distant groan. The tails withdrew from their scattered corners and dark spaces and slowly crept out of the gaping void behind the beast, fanning out all spiffy like a peacock. “I will still your heart and suck it from your chest.”
Naw, I wasn’t anybody’s meal. He’d choke on whatever he got a piece of.
He’d pulled back his weapons though. Gotten defensive. That motherfucker was scared.
I made a feint with the sword, moving a step forward. The tails twitched in reaction. The empty eyes on the demon’s face followed the blade. When it first attacked us, Araceli had been taken by surprise and I’d put the sword down. It had seen a chance to earn the win. Now though? Death stalked it and it knew.
I charged.
The creature reeled, tails recoiling but quivering, anxious for the strike. Its mouth finally ripped open, skin stretching, tearing, until the sheet tore in ragged flaps. It sprayed a fearsome hiss of defiance revealing a nasty looking hole filled with teeth I had no intention of letting near my person, heart or otherwise.
Midway through the charge, I made a wild slash. Too far away to connect but close enough the beast would think I’d misjudged my reach and left an opening. The tails surged backward, getting ready to strike. And gave me my opening instead.
I flicked my wrist. Atofo’s knife dropped into my free hand and I sent it sailing toward Scorpion’s nasty maw.
The blade rammed deep into its throat. The monster gurgled and screeched, a mixture of rage and pain. It stumbled out of the shadows, tails stri
king blindly, gouging wood and ripping trenches in the plaster. I raised the sword to fend off stray attacks. One of the tails struck wild, burying up to the nub into the creature’s chest. It gave a subdued squeal and pitched forward, furniture and pictures on the wall rattling when it landed.
The beast twitched as the remaining tails descended, ripping into the body and splintering the floor all around. When the thrashing finally stopped, I walked up and drove the sword through his skull.
“Ace.” Araceli had staggered to the door, clutching the frame. She held a knife in a loose grip.
“Finishing move,” I said. “He did most of the work.”
I turned the creature’s head with my boot. The handle of Atofo’s knife jutted from a mouth smoking with tendrils of shadow. Leaving my Timb planted, I reached down and jerked the blade free. As soon as I did, the body shriveled and crumbled. All that was left, a pile of ash.
“Do me a favor. Don’t tell Atofo where his knife’s been.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I cruised by Fenwick Hall on the way back to the highway. Shredded police tape fluttered on the gate. A real estate sign stated a sale was pending.
Araceli had said I found my faith there. The magic of Kibaga’s Cloak that I’d first worn the night I found Hallewell’s body in his dining room had to be that power. It had come to me in the fields and at the prison. Was it localized? Trapped? How could I ever access it again?
With Fortune gone, I could risk summoning the Crossroads Devil to ask questions. But we didn’t have the time. The deputy would’ve heard we were in town by now. Waiting around out here for three days, uninterrupted, to perform the ritual wasn’t going to happen.
At least the old hoodoo had skipped town. No signs of a struggle, hopefully he’d done it under his own power. But we had a bigger problem.
“What the hell was that thing?” I asked Araceli once we’d hit the edge of town.
“Rabisu. Drinkers of flesh,” she said, a hand covering her eyes. She hadn’t shaken off the full effects of the poison. She’d shot down my idea of an emergency room visit.