Blood Rite

by E.J. Stevens

  “Would you like to explain the nickname, kitten,” Torn said, running his fingers down Delilah’s arm, making her purr with delight. “Or shall I?”

  Ew. Barf.

  “No comment, princess?” he asked with a smirk. “Cat got your tongue?”

  I shook my head. Tearing apart the fabric of reality, watching a cat sidhe fold shadows into origami, and be spit out into some foul alleyway in a foreign city was starting to sound better by the moment. Anything to escape this conversation.

  “Can we get on with the warping of time and space?” I asked.

  “Ivy is right,” Ceff said. “We have a lich king to kill.”

  “We do indeed,” Forneus said.

  Flame danced in the demon’s eyes, and I realized belatedly that I had no idea who had created the portal in Highgate Cemetery that we were now racing toward. I hoped that this trip wouldn’t involve a baptism of fire or following a yellow brick road of sulfur. Not that I could turn back now.

  Delilah pressed against Torn and licked him, like a cat if truth be told, then stepped away. The succubus was staying behind to guard the carnival grounds, thank Mab. That left me, Ceff, Torn, and Forneus for this adventure. I just hoped it turned out to be roundtrip.

  Chapter 28

  The journey through the shadows wasn’t as bad as a trip to Mag Mell or Emain Eblach, thank Mab, but I still gasped for air as the world shifted and London rose up to meet my booted feet.

  Torn cocked a smug eyebrow and sauntered along the overgrown path as if taunting me for my human frailty. Not that I was human, not anymore, but, unlike the cat sidhe lord, my body wasn’t used to traveling through shadows and portals. Torn lifted his hands and spun in a circle. How he managed to do that with a swagger, I’ll never know.

  “Welcome to Highgate Cemetery,” he said.

  That drew my attention. He’d brought us directly to the cemetery? That was unusually considerate for Torn. Either he was getting soft, or he was really eager to battle the lich king and his zombies.

  “Um, thanks,” I said with a slow disbelieving shake of the head. “I expected to be dumped in an alley or something.”

  I’d braced myself for a dirty puddle, bags of garbage, maybe even some vomit. Torn had a bizarre sense of humor, usually at my expense.

  “I could still do that, princess,” he said with a rakish wink and a devilish grin. “If you prefer.”

  And there it was, the real Torn. No way was I letting him drop me in an alley now.

  “Nope, this will do,” I said, stepping onto the center of the leaf-strewn path before he tossed me into the shadows.

  I scanned my surroundings, surprised at the profusion of nature here. When Forneus had informed us the back door to the Necropolis was in a London cemetery, I hadn’t expected a riot of wildflowers, trees, and ivy. I turned in a slow circle, marveling at the beauty of the place.

  The scent of warm earth, greenery, and rain-dampened stone and Portland cement filled me with a rare sense of peace. But it wasn’t silent here. There wasn’t the hushed quiet of a church. Instead, there was a surprising sense of joy and celebration. Birdsong rang out through the lush overgrowth, birds happily chirping, tittering, and singing to the dead.

  The joyous singing was a poignant counterpoint to the loss and decay.

  Vines snaked from leafy branches, reaching down to caress the headstones and funerary monuments below. Lush ivy, my namesake, swarmed over moss and lichen, swallowing the graves whole.

  Ceff cleared his throat, reminding me that we weren’t here to sightsee. I sighed and turned to Forneus. He’d spent time here in the late 19th century and he had knowledge of the gateway that led to the Necropolis. That qualified him as our guide.

  “Which way to the portal?” I asked, wishing we weren’t on a deadline.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  There was something about this place that called to me, creating a sorrowful ache deep in my bones. It was all I could do not to reach out and lovingly stroke the nearest headstone. The urge was so diametrically opposed to my usual touch aversion that I had to wonder if the place was bespelled. Were these funereal gardens just enchanting or enchanted?

  Had we walked into a magical trap?

  “Much has changed since last I was here,” Forneus said, narrow gaze probing the surrounding darkness.

  He didn’t seem enchanted, only circumspect. Night hadn’t fully fallen, but there was a perpetual gloom here amidst the wild trees and overgrown greenery.

  “But you know the way, right?” I asked.

  “Please tell me we didn’t waste a trip through the shadows,” Torn said.

  “Yes, of course,” Forneus said stiffly. His head swiveled as he got his bearings. “The design has not changed, only the effects of time and neglect. It was quite fashionable in those days, you know.”

  “Fashionable?” I asked, hurrying to keep up as Forneus hastened up a winding path.

  “Are we talking graverobbing?” Torn asked, eyes gleaming. “Resurrections? Vampire tea parties? Do tell.”

  “Nothing so gauche,” Forneus said, leading us at a punishing pace.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to outrun the past.

  “Cemeteries, especially the Magnificent Seven, served as an oasis of nature for the city’s humans who lived in London’s smog and smoke,” Ceff said. “They became the place to be seen, in their day.”

  Dry branches crunched beneath my boots and I tried not to imagine they were bones. Pesky morbid imagination. Instead, I considered Ceff’s past.

  “I didn’t know you’d ever been to London,” I said.

  “Swimming the Thames was something that foolish, thrill-seeking kelpies did when they grew weary of the world,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I would not do it today,” he said. “I have much to live for.”

  I was glad for that. I’m sure Ceff’s dark period was due in large part to his sociopathic wife murdering his only sons. That was a deep wound that I hoped Sparky and I could someday heal.

  “If you two are done being disgustingly emotional, it looks like we’re here,” Torn said.

  He rolled his eyes, but his stance was alert and ready for a fight. I could see why. Forneus had come to an abrupt stop, hellfire flickering in his eyes as he looked out over a ring of sunken tombs.

  Curved vaults lined the circular lower terrace, the tombs carved into the hillside. Towering above, in the ring’s center, stood a majestic cedar tree.

  “The Cedar of Lebanon,” Forneus said, voice hushed and reverential.

  Chapter 29

  I’d seen Forneus shrug off holy water, so I was surprised when he winced, stepping gingerly as we began our descent to the ring of sunken tombs. Tendrils of smoke rose up beneath his feet as he made his way down each stone step. I had to wonder about the holiness of this place. And that wasn’t the only magic active here.

  “Once we reach the bottom,” Forneus said, breath ragged. “Walk clockwise to the thirteenth vault, then widdershins around the entirety of the Circle of Lebanon before exiting through Egyptian Avenue.”

  “Like a magic padlock?” I asked.

  “Precisely,” he said, a weary grin tugging at his lips. “How perceptive.”

  “This design, the ring with the tree as the centerpiece,” I said. “It’s fairy-crafted, right?”

  I may not know as much as the demon did about London funerary architecture and cemetery design, but I knew faeries.

  “There is much power here, but yes,” he said with a nod. “Faeries were the original architects of the gateway to the Necropolis.”

  “So, how do you know about it, demon,” Torn asked, narrowing his eyes at Forneus.

  “I told you,” Forneus said, waving a gloved hand. “I had business here in the 1880s. My role, as is my damnable curse as solicitor to the fae, was to negotiate and settle a territorial dispute between the fetch and banshee clans, including multiple counts of alleg
ed wrongful death portents.”

  Forneus took a few more steps before coming to a halt and mopping at his forehead with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “I was privy to all records in the fetch and banshee clans’ possession regarding their legal rights to perform their duty of portending a person’s impending demise,” he said. “Those records dated back to the creation of this cemetery and the portal we now seek entry to.”

  I nodded.

  “So, to answer your question, yes, faeries designed the gateway,” he said, casting me a contemplative look. “Which might explain the profusion of weeds and vines since my last visit.”

  It was true. There was no arguing the ties between faerie magic and the natural world, or the fact that this place was wildly overgrown. The greenery was growing untamed, swallowing the monuments to the dead.

  “Nature has a foothold here,” Ceff said.

  That was the understatement of the year. It was like the place had been sprinkled with the faerie equivalent of Miracle-Grow. And it wasn’t just the weeds and vines. I lifted my chin, admiring the enormous cedar tree that rose from the circle’s center.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, pointing at the regal tree. “But why cedar?”

  I’d heard of oak, ash, and rowan being used for magical purposes, but not cedar.

  “Cedar’s for portals,” Torn said with a shrug.

  Forneus nodded his agreement.

  “It’s why we trick humans into placing cedar in their closets, attics, and under their beds,” Forneus said.

  “That’s a joke, right?” I asked. “You’re joking.”

  “I never jest about closets,” he said.

  Forneus might have said more, but with an eardrum-shattering wail, a banshee lunged from the dark alcove where she’d been hiding and hit the demon head on. The woman was skeletally emaciated beneath her tattered, lacy widow’s weeds, but she rammed Forneus with the force of a linebacker.

  “Hurry, to the thirteenth tomb,” he shouted. “I am fine.”

  I ran, Ceff and Torn hard on my heels, but as we hurried on our final pass, hopefully unlocking the gateway hidden in the Egyptian Avenue, Forneus was still locked in combat with the banshee.

  Torn dove into the fray, slashing at the banshee with his claws. She screamed and dropped to the ground before I had a clear opening to throw one of my knives.

  “Go!” Forneus yelled. “I will hold them off and keep the way clear for your return.”

  “Them?” I asked.

  The question was answered by a riot of blood curdling screams and wails. The sounds came from every direction.

  “I’m not leaving you,” I said. “Jinx would never forgive me if you died. It would put a major dent in her wedding plans.”

  He blanched but nodded.

  “Perhaps, you are right,” he said. “I would not wish to anger my beloved.”

  “So, any idea what’s gotten into the banshees?” I asked.

  “I don’t think it’s the banshees we need to be worried about, princess,” Torn said.

  I scanned the cemetery, searching the gloom for movement. It took a moment for my brain to process the horror before me. What I’d taken for moving shadows, the result of flickering, spectral candlelight, was in fact a mass of writhing corpses.

  “Zombies,” I gasped.

  My eyes rounded and my heart skipped a beat as the dead clawed their way up from their graves.

  “Do you hear that?” Ceff asked.

  “I think we all hear that wailing, fish breath,” Torn said.

  “No, not the banshees,” Ceff said.

  Below the high-pitched scream boomed heavy thuds like the heartbeat of a giant.

  “What is that?” I asked. “Please tell me it’s not a zombie giant.”

  “That would be fun,” Torn said, jumping atop a headstone and flexing his claws.

  “I do believe that something is trying to escape that mausoleum,” Forneus said, pointing at the stone vault.

  Now that he mentioned it, I could feel the pounding in the soles of my feet. It was almost rhythmic, booming over-and-over again as something, a zombie presumably, beat its way free.

  “Any idea who or what’s entombed here?” I asked.

  Cracks grew along the face of the vault like racing lines of quicksilver. I had to resist the urge to stomp on the stone, the old nursery rhyme like a mantra in the back of my mind. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. If only I could be so lucky.

  I shook my head. Jenny Greenteeth’s mutterings about Mab had shaken me more than I’d like to admit. But now was no time for mommy issues. We had an entire cemetery of corpses ready to lurch out and eat our brains, or faces, or whatever it is zombies do. Whatever that was, it couldn’t be good.

  “I have no idea, but if it keeps up that racket, it will wake Bob,” Forneus said, eyeing the rows of family vaults.

  I had no idea who Bob was, but it was clear from Forneus’ worried expression that this Bob guy would wake up angry. I’d rather not be around when that happened.

  “That sounds ominous,” I muttered. “Okay, new plan. How about we run for the portal? We can still get there, right?”

  “Yes,” Forneus said, stumbling forward as a huge piece of stone hit his shoulder. “It will appear at the end of Egyptian Avenue. Run!”

  That was all the incentive I needed. Calves burning, hands clenched around throwing knives, I ran.

  Egyptian Avenue wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Thankfully, there were no cursing mummies or angry sphinxes. There were, however, plenty of zombies.

  Zombies burst from their coffins, clawing and climbing their way to their feet. From my estimation, we had about five seconds before the narrow street of the dead was overrun. Egyptian Avenue ran between more vaults, shadowed by a canopy of interwoven vines that perfumed the air with an herbal scent.

  Sadly, it didn’t cover the stench of rotting corpses. Zombies lurched and staggered, and I threw a dagger to sprout from the nearest dead man’s brow. Sadly, it didn’t slow him down. We needed to get the hell out of Highgate.

  Ceff whinnied, apparently deciding his horse form was the wisest choice. Torn used my betrothed like a springboard, launching himself into the vines, grinning from ear to ear. I followed, leaping onto Ceff’s back.

  “Run!” I yelled, leaning forward, mouth close to his equine ear.

  Ceff galloped while I kicked and batted away our decomposing enemy. More worrying were the cries and wails of banshees becoming closer by the second. I risked a look behind us where Forneus took up the rear. He sent a jet of hellfire down the narrow avenue, setting zombies, vines, and cobwebs aflame.

  I had a feeling that Bob, whoever he was, was going to be pissed.

  “Hurry!” Forneus shouted.

  Torn swung from the overhead canopy, a blur of claws and blades, as he leapt ahead of us. We’d reached the end of the path which dead-ended in a ring of poppies, cedar, and ash. Inside the ring, magic swirled dizzyingly.

  We’d found the portal.

  Ceff knelt, and I slid off his back, blades at the ready, but Forneus waved us forward. This was it. I swallowed hard. Here we go.

  Torn winked and sauntered through the portal without hesitation, an eager spring in his step. He was enjoying this. I, on the other hand, was more wary. There was a very real possibility that we might die in the Necropolis. I blanched, stepping over the threshold.

  So long as we managed to stop the lich king and save Harborsmouth, I was okay with that. I would do anything for my city. I would die to protect Jinx, and to give Sparky a future. For all my flaws and all my mistakes, my intentions were just.

  I was a hero.

  Chapter 30

  Here near the gateway, the Necropolis was like a mirror image of the London cemetery, except for the fact that it was devoid of color and covered in ash. So much ash, in fact, that it took me a moment to find my footing.

  As I scanned the area for threats, I could see that the crypts, mausoleums, a
nd headstones gave way to a barren landscape beyond. That wasteland was primarily fields of thick, grey ash dotted here and there with clusters of headstones like moldy bread. Sadly, the concentrations of graves weren’t the only blight upon the Necropolis. Lines of zombies striped this realm like rotting, gangrenous welts.

  “We should add this to the honeymoon wish list,” I said, voice thick with sarcasm.

  “Extremely romantic,” Ceff said with a wink.

  “It has its charms,” Forneus said, eyeing the area with interest.

  “You better be kidding,” I said.

  The demon raised one eyebrow, but said no more. Great. I’d been trying to break the tension that lay as heavy as the stench of death. If Forneus suggested the Necropolis to Jinx as a potential honeymoon spot, she’d have my head.

  Speaking of heads, looming over the entire land like an evil shadow, was a throne of carved skulls. On that throne sat a figure in a dark, hooded cloak. It was hard to penetrate the stygian darkness within those folds of fabric, especially from this distance, but I was certain that this was our lich king. The glowing blue eyes and the skeletal hand that gripped the throne were a dead giveaway.

  Torn hissed and I had to agree with him. The lich was evil. The raw power of this place, fueled by blood and death, made the very air thick and rancid. The sooner we took this guy down, the better.

  I squinted, examining the lich in the distance, only to realize one more detail. On his head, beneath the hooded robes, sat a crown. Maybe he really was an ancient king. Not that it mattered. The man had performed vile blood rites, sacrifices, to raise the dead. And now he lured those animated corpses here to be drained of their residual magic, making the necromancer more powerful by the minute.

  Forneus bit back a curse. Since he was a demon, there was a chance it was a real one.

  “I know,” I said, tamping down the urge to gag. “I feel it too.”

  Death magic slid past us like an oil slick, an oozing effluvium of blood and rot. It was the magic equivalent of swimming in sewage and I, for one, did not want to drown in it.