The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

by Adams, Cat

  32

  It would have been a busy morning

  without the arrival of Okalani’s arm. As

  it was, it was insane. We vacated

  Adriana’s

  apartments,

  leaving

  the

  investigators to do their thing.

  Bruno and Creede had hustled off

  somewhere with Dahlmar’s best mages

  to work on the tracking device that could

  be implanted in my body in case the

  worst came to pass. My hand was

  throbbing, and I glanced down at the

  curse mark on my palm to see it red and

  angry. Thanks to the late, unlamented

  Queen Stefania and her death curse, I’d

  had a lot of experience with worst-case

  scenarios.

  My thoughts were dark, my mood

  darker. I had to do something to distract

  myself, so I went with Thorsen and Igor

  to look in on the people doing one last

  check of the various security measures. I

  had a vested interest in them. Still, if

  there were any weaknesses, I wasn’t

  finding them. Then again, neither was

  anybody else.

  Noon came. We broke for lunch. I

  asked a servant to have food brought to

  my rooms and went there to eat and

  clean up. I’d gone to Adriana’s rooms in

  such a rush that I hadn’t even had a

  chance to brush my teeth, so I felt pretty

  damned scruffy.

  There was a final check of the

  wedding regalia scheduled in one of the

  downstairs conference rooms at 2:00. So

  I ate, took a shower, and generally made

  myself presentable. By the time I was

  done, it was 1:30. I stepped out of the

  bedroom and into the living area to find

  Bruno, Creede, and an elderly man in a

  plain brown suit waiting for me, their

  expressions serious. They rose when I

  entered the room.

  “Well?” I looked from one to the

  other.

  “We did it.” Creede and Bruno both

  smiled. They looked tired but pleased.

  And well they should be. Breaking new

  magical territory on short notice and

  under pressure was something to be

  proud of.

  “This”—Bruno gestured to the older

  man,

  who

  bowed—“is

  Dr.

  Ilia

  Bogdonavich. He’s going to implant the

  device.”

  I started to roll up the sleeve of my

  blouse, but Creede shook his head.

  “Under the circumstances—” I had a

  sickening flash of memory of Okalani’s

  arm laying on Adriana’s bed.

  “Right. Where do you suggest,

  Doctor?”

  “The muscles of the abdomen or the

  gluteus maximus would be best.”

  Stomach or ass. Hmnnn, not much of a

  choice. I reached for my belt. “Leave the

  room, boys.”

  “Aw,” Bruno teased, “you’re no fun.”

  Creede just smiled and led him out into

  the hall, giving the doctor and me some

  privacy.

  “This is going to pinch,” he said. Why

  do all doctors say that? And why are

  they always lying?

  It didn’t pinch, it hurt. I had to remind

  myself that I’d asked for this. People had

  gone to a lot of trouble to arrange it for

  me, and it was for my own good. But I

  was still pretty grumpy as I followed

  Baker through the maze of corridors to

  the conference room for the fitting. It’s

  surprising how much you use your tail

  muscles to walk. I should have thought

  of that.

  We arrived at more or less the same

  time as Adriana and her guards. My

  cousin looked much better than she had

  this morning. Her “wake-up call” had

  been shocking and sickening, but she’s a

  tough cookie. It had frightened her, no

  doubt about it. But she was channeling

  that fear into anger and determination. I

  admired her for it.

  She’d dressed in simple jeans and a

  white cotton tee. I was wearing my usual

  black jeans with a blouse and a black

  suit jacket. Technically I was the better

  dressed, but she somehow managed to

  look elegant, chic, and oh so much more

  attractive. It was a trick she and Dawna

  both had mastered and I just hadn’t. I

  kept trying to figure out how they did it.

  Dawna said it was the fit—but Isaac had

  tailored this jacket. It fit perfectly.

  Whatever it was, I couldn’t do it.

  “Are you okay?” Adriana asked.

  “As much I can be,” I assured her.

  “You?”

  “The same. Is it wrong to say I just

  want this over with?”

  “No. I think that’s pretty typical of

  most brides at this stage of the game, and

  they don’t have to deal with terrorists.

  But hey, remember, this time tomorrow,

  you’ll be Mrs. Dahlmar, Queen of

  Rusland, and off on your honeymoon.”

  She beamed at the thought, reaffirming

  my belief that this marriage wasn’t about

  politics; it was true love on both sides.

  Baker opened the door, revealing a

  small room filled to bursting with

  clothing and people. One rack held the

  bridesmaids’ dresses; another, the

  exquisite cream and pearl confection that

  was Adriana’s wedding dress. Holding

  court in the center of the room, it drew

  the eye, and I found myself gaping at it

  as my cousin and I crossed the threshold.

  Only as the door swung closed and I felt

  the rush of magic did I realize that

  something was terribly wrong.

  No one was moving. Isaac, on his

  knees on the floor, was frozen rigid, one

  hand reaching up to smooth the fabric of

  Adriana’s gown. Gilda was a statue,

  caught in midstep, her mouth open as if

  to speak.

  Instinct took over. I shoved Adriana

  behind me and shouted for Baker. We

  needed out of here, now! Reaching

  behind me, I grabbed for the doorknob.

  The instant my skin touched the cold

  metal I felt the familiar lurch and the

  room and everything in it disappeared.

  33

  I landed in the center of a silver casting

  circle next to a bloody, lump of battered

  flesh that I could barely identify as

  female. She had been impaled with a

  lance of bone, pinned to the concrete

  floor like a butterfly pinned to a card.

  Carved over every inch of the lance’s

  surface were words written in burning

  red script. I recognized some of the

  names and phrases from my classes back

  in college. My gorge rose as I realized

  this was the spear of the chief demon in

  charge of Satan’s legions. The writing

  seemed to flow and writhe before my

  eyes, making me dizzy and nauseous.

  The woman made a
sound, too weak

  to be a gasp or even a moan. I dropped

  to my knees, crawling across the floor to

  examine her. I was desperately careful

  to avoid the spear. I didn’t know what

  touching it might do to me and I so didn’t

  want to find out.

  It was only when I reached her side

  that I realized her right arm was missing,

  the shoulder socket a burned, cauterized

  mess. I began to weep as recognition hit.

  “Oh, dear God, no.” The moment I

  uttered what amounted to a prayer, a

  gong sounded, loud enough that my ears

  bled. Reality shuddered and wavered as

  the substance of our dimension began to

  part. The spear began radiating soaring

  heat. I smelled burning flesh, like meat

  cooking on the grill, and Okalani’s body

  arched. Her mouth opened, but only a

  raw whisper of sound came out.

  My stomach heaved and I lost

  everything I’d ever even thought about

  eating, turning away so I wouldn’t spew

  on Okalani. Despite the surge of power,

  the demon didn’t arrive. He couldn’t

  until a human summoner called him.

  When I recovered, I checked on

  Okalani. Under most circumstances, she

  would be dead—no human or siren body

  was capable of withstanding the damage

  that had been inflicted on her. But the

  demon’s spear pinned her soul to her

  body just as tightly as it held her body to

  the ground. She would live until the

  demon removed the weapon and

  allowed her to die. They had wanted her

  alive to use her talent to bring Adriana

  and me here. They wanted her suffering,

  both alive and dead at the same time.

  Pain, suffering, and despair are what

  they feed on. If her soul was tainted

  enough, she’d be theirs in Hell. If not,

  she’d be free.

  I stood, steeling myself to touch that

  foul thing and pull it from her. Human

  strength wouldn’t be enough to remove

  it. Vampire and siren strength might.

  My movement didn’t go unnoticed. I

  had been so focused on Okalani I hadn’t

  realized anyone else was in the room,

  but now I spun around as Jan Mortensen

  stepped close to the circle, close enough

  to get a good look at me, but careful not

  to cross the line.

  “You!” he spat. “Where is your

  cousin? Olga promised she’d deliver

  you both. Stupid, incompetent bitch.”

  So Olga was the traitor. I wasn’t

  surprised. Here’s hoping I’d live to

  accuse her, though it wasn’t looking

  likely.

  “Still”—Jan smiled, and it was pure

  evil that lit his face with delight—“of

  the two of you, you’re the one I wanted

  most, after what you did to my brother. I

  will enjoy every minute of what happens

  to you even more than I’ve enjoyed

  punishing your little friend.”

  He turned and walked out of the room

  through an open door. I could hear him

  giving orders to people I couldn’t see.

  “The sacrifice has arrived. Make sure

  the cameras and the computer are ready.

  We want to make sure this goes out

  live.”

  I didn’t just hear heavy footfalls then,

  I felt them. The ground shuddered

  beneath my knees with each invisible

  step. The smell of sulfur filled the air,

  thick enough to choke on, searing my

  lungs each time I drew breath.

  I’ve faced greater demons before. But

  I’d always been outside the safety of a

  protection ring. Now I was inside. I

  tried to think, tried to plan, but my mind

  refused.

  I could sense something huge and

  hideous waiting, poised to pounce. All

  that stood between it and me was a

  tissue-paper-thin film of reality. He

  could not cross that last barrier without

  human invitation. Even having come so

  far, and having been here so often, he

  could not cross. Even with his greatest

  tool on this side of the veil, the demon

  could not appear until someone uttered

  the words to bring him forth.

  Jan stepped back into the room,

  wearing a black robe of thick velvet. He

  pulled up a hood, obscuring his face,

  then drew a hooked silver knife from a

  pocket hidden in the thick folds of ebony

  cloth. He rolled back his left sleeve,

  exposing a pale length of heavily scarred

  flesh. With a triumphant cry, he drew a

  long, deep cut down the length of his

  forearm. Then he shook the blade,

  sending splatters of blood onto the silver

  casting ring as he began chanting the

  summoning.

  I fought to control my terror, tried to

  think clearly enough to do something,

  anything to buy the time it would take for

  a rescue.

  The casting had to have blood. But it

  also needed the words. If I could stop

  Jan from speaking, I could stop the

  demon.

  Reaching beneath my jacket, I drew

  my gun. Dropping to one knee, I steadied

  myself, then fired twice, aiming at the

  center mass of his body. But the bullets

  were caught in the spell barrier, frozen

  in midair as if suspended in clear

  gelatin. He was almost finished. Just a

  few more seconds … I had an idea, a

  desperate, crazy idea. I grabbed one of

  my One Shot squirt guns filled with holy

  water. I raised the tiny water pistol with

  my left hand and my Colt with my right. I

  squeezed the trigger with my left index

  finger. I actually saw the water hit,

  burning away the shield for a few

  seconds, barely long enough for me to

  aim the Colt and fire.

  Jan’s body jerked backward as the

  bullet hit him square in the chest; blood

  and cloth sprayed the wall behind him,

  more blood bubbled from his lips. He

  dropped to his knees and I knew I’d

  killed him. But it didn’t matter, because

  with his last whisper of breath, he

  finished the summoning. The way was

  clear.

  I closed my eyes. If I looked, if I saw

  him, I would panic and wouldn’t be able

  to think. I needed to think. Odin Allfather

  had said I could defeat this. I struggled,

  trying to remember his words even as

  hideous, obscene laughter made my skin

  try to crawl off my body while at the

  same time my loins tightened with

  desire.

  The message: what was it? The words

  came to me then. Have faith. The right

  weapon can overcome what will come

  against you.

  I had holy water, but only another One

  Shot, certainly not enough to harm

  something like this.

  The demon laughed again and began

  moving toward me. I
found myself

  weeping, praying for the courage and

  strength; praying to the god my

  grandmother had taught me of, who I’d

  wanted to believe in and never could.

  But as I knelt on the hot concrete, the

  words of the first prayer she ever taught

  me came to my mind, remembered from

  back when I was small enough to be

  afraid of the dark, before my sister had

  even been born.

  Angel of God, my guardian dear.

  The demon let out a basso bellow that

  shattered my eardrums, deafening me

  more thoroughly than a gunshot at close

  range.

  To whom God’s love commits me

  here.

  I opened my eyes to see a huge, black

  dragon, like a living shadow, towering

  at least forty feet above me, razor-sharp

  claws raised to strike. When I didn’t

  stop praying, he turned toward Okalani.

  I screamed, “No,” and threw myself

  down on top of her, protecting her body

  with mine. I wrapped myself around the

  spear that bound her to this world. I

  closed my eyes and waited for the blow

  that would end my life.

  Fire flared around me, I could smell

  it, feel it. But it did not burn. The dragon

  shrieked in impotent rage. I couldn’t

  hear it, but I could feel it, an actual

  physical pressure beating against me. I

  opened my eyes wondering what could

  possibly be stopping him and saw light,

  bright

  searing

  light,

  illuminating

  everything, making the demonic monster

  hold back. Words echoed in my mind,

  and though they were in a language I did

  not know, I knew full well what they

  were saying.

  They are mine. The demon’s voice,

  filled with honey and putrefaction.

  The other voice held power and love

  stronger than anything I’d ever felt. Were

  that so, I could not be here, and well

  we both know it. Begone.

  A dark laugh bubbling with evil

  pleasure filled my ears and made me

  cringe. I wanted to look again but that

  was the way to madness. True evil

  would corrupt my eyes, blind me. One is

  a traitor, the other a tainted thing.

  They are mine!

  The sound of steel on steel filled the

  air, like a blade being unsheathed. No.

  The betrayer has repented and is

  forgiven. And while the other has yet to

  choose her final path, it is she who

  called me forth. Again I say, begone.

  I felt the power surging and risked a

  peek. The dragon shimmered, changing

  shape,

  becoming

  something