I carefully made my way to the stairs, my only thought at this point to get out of the house and flee. I had my hand on the wooden banister when a dozen whispers drifted over me.
I could feel it more than see it. Back in the office, the papers and photos on the wall fluttered. The reports on the desk lifted their corners. The pressure in the room dropped, and my heartbeat hammered my eardrums.
That was enough for me. I dropped all pretense of stealth and bolted up the stairs.
My feet skidded across the hardwood floor as I shot through the basement doorway and slammed into the wall. A half dozen picture frames leaped and shattered next to my feet. Behind me, the dozen whispers rose to a howl. The remaining pictures rattled on the walls while shelves crashed below.
I turned and ran. I didn’t want to be trapped in the backyard, even with the back door unlocked. I sprinted toward the front door. Behind me, the howl turned to a roar, and the walls shook as if a hurricane had escaped. I didn’t glance back.
I prepared myself to yank the door open, alarm or no. I needn’t have bothered. As I reached for the deadbolt, something big picked me up like a Barbie doll. The world exploded into a whirlwind of howling madness.
I flew. The crash of raining splinters and glass mixed with the steady thump thump thump of the pouring rain. For a moment all I could see was debris and swirling rain. Then the ground taught me a nice little lesson in gravity. Along with workbooks on pain and suffering.
Stunned and winded, I stared up at the night sky and couldn’t comprehend what had happened. I sat up, even though my head was having a nice little cabana party without my permission.
The entire front of the house, from the quaint living room window to the front door, looked like a giant mutant Cookie Monster had mistaken it for a double chocolate chip.
An amorphous creature, made out of wind and rain, swept out of the debris and condensed in front of me. A vague badger-like thing, monstrous and taller than me, shimmered inside the tiny tornado. It growled in the voice of a hurricane.
I also vaguely remembered seeing an image like it in one of Jake's books. What did he call it? A tuurngaq?
Not that names mattered. I had a moment to marvel at the thing’s beauty before it swept me across the street like a child tossing a stuffed bear.
I twisted and rolled as best I could, but the impact still struck the breath from my lungs. Everything went white for a moment and I completely lost all thought of who I was or what I was doing. The tuurngaq screamed a challenge and the whirlwind surrounding it expanded outward. The thing charged.
Instinct took over. Now I can fight with the best of them, but most of the time there’s only one winning solution to a problem: run as fast as you can, as far as you can. Not proud of it, but there it is. I leaped up, adrenaline flooding my limbs, and sprinted down the rain-choked street, the tornado from hell nipping at my heels.
Most people associate demons with fire and brimstone, but that’s like saying all Americans are beer-guzzling wife-beaters. Some Inuit spirits helped mankind while others held centuries of malevolence in their core. You can guess which one was after me.
The rain made the street a torrential river thick with debris, but my reflexes turned on and my feet knew where to plant. If I could make it back to my truck I could maybe outrun the damn thing. I vaguely remembered that these things didn’t like technology. Or was that Amish demons? Didn’t matter. It was the only plan I had.
Rain soaked my clothes and stung my eyes. Somehow I kept my footing, even as a hurricane swept around me from all sides. Branches whipped past my head. All around me trees groaned as the fiend splintered trunks and tore roots out of the ground.
I sprinted past a huge mansion partially hidden among the towering conifers. Glass shattered and a shrill car alarm went off.
Metal crunched, more glass shattered, and suddenly the alarm moved up and over me. The shrill claxon cut off, but I didn’t hear the car land. Not good.
The creature growled again and my reflexes took over. I dove forward as something huge flew past where my head had been only seconds before. With a crash that shook the earth, the trunk of a fallen evergreen slammed into the road ahead of me and kept rolling with the force of the throw.
My abilities flipped into overdrive. I tasted acid at the back of my throat. I rolled to my feet and vaulted the fallen tree. The hurricane roared in fury.
I could see my truck in the distance, parked serenely like a sheep awaiting the wolf. I knew I’d never make it. I needed to slow this bastard down.
My brain ran as fast as my feet. The tuurngaq might be incorporeal, but the ripping trees told me it had mass. And anything that had mass had to stay localized. I quickly changed directions, sprinting directly into the thick woods bordering the road. People do love privacy and I only hoped the trees were thick enough. The whirlwind screamed behind me, and the trees around me swayed in the gale. The snapping of wood filled the air like a giant popcorn maker. The creature howled again.
Trees splintered, but the roar of the creature fell behind as I dodged under a thick canopy of needles. The tuurngaq was strong, but not invulnerable. That was good to know.
Believe me, it still came at me, but the thicket of pines proved a bit sturdier then the Divita house. I veered through the trees, keeping in mind the general direction of my truck. Breath began to be a precious commodity, and I wasn’t sure how much nitro I had left in the tank. I turned and veered toward the parking lot.
Erupting out of the trees, I was never so glad to see my old beat-up truck. I needed to get into the vehicle and get it going. I just hoped the damn thing wasn’t feeling persnickety tonight.
I was ten feet from the truck when I noticed the silence. A million warning sirens went off in my head as I slowed and tried to focus on the night sounds. I had to know where the thing was.
I couldn’t hear the tuurngaq, but my keen hearing did pick up something else. A whistling began far off then grew louder. It came from above. For a moment my fear-fueled mind couldn’t figure out what it was. Then my brain went back to an old movie I had seen as a kid. All I could hear was an old soldier screaming “incoming!”
Instinct took over one last time. I screeched to a halt and threw myself back in the direction I had come. The whistling grew to a howl as a dark shape slammed down from above.
The Mercedes crushed my poor truck like so much tinfoil. Both cars exploded into shattered glass and metal. A lone tire flew past as I landed rather painfully on my rear end.
The tuurngaq, silent now, fluttered down from above, a graceful bird made of broken tree trunks, wind, and fury. It had never even occurred to me the thing could fly.
Before I could blink I found myself tumbling through the night, the whole world becoming a blur of screeching wind and rain.
Remember when they say it’s not the falling that kills you? That was an idea I never wanted to prove, but one of the remaining cars didn’t care about my feelings. I slammed into the windshield, and for a moment the night became nothing but a ball of white-hot agony. As I slid to the ground I was pretty sure someone had replaced my eyeballs with carnival mirrors. My breath came in rasping, painful hitches.
The howling whirlwind expanded outward. There was nowhere left to run. My hand crept into my pocket, searching furtively for anything that could help me. Pain flared down my side as the creature swooped down.
My hand came out with the first thing I grabbed. Shiny, round, and golden. A little dragon scale against a creature from a storm chaser’s drug-induced nightmare.
Oberon’s scale flared like a supernova. The black sky became day as golden flames rushed out and over the parking lot. An unnatural scream of rage tore my eardrums as the ground rippled like a blanket shaken over a bedspread. The windows in the building shattered. Cars folded like tin cans.
Then the sun blinked out. White spots danced across my vision. Metal showered down around me. A fine steam of evaporated rain hung in the air for a second before the wind
whisked it away. In the distance, a chorus of dog howls and car alarms broke the silence. I heard doors opening slowly, fearful of the storm that had attacked and died.
A cone of devastation spread out from me. What was left of my truck lay in an impressionist’s nightmare. Concrete twisted in a blackened, pitted vision of hell, and not a single window had made it through the explosion intact.
Oberon sure had a flare for the dramatic.
The right side of my chest screamed as I staggered to my feet. Someone had replaced the air in my lungs with razor blades while I was out. The dragon scale was nothing but ash now, and I wiped it on my pants. I had to get out of there before the Watchers showed up, or anyone else who might ask questions. So I clutched my right side and limped toward the street.
I didn't make it far before my ears popped, and a familiar red-cloaked form appeared in the night. The rain swirled around the sudden figure as if it didn't quite know where to fall.
“Nicolas St. James, “ the scarlet figure said. He didn't move towards me, but I couldn't help it. I stopped and turned. “Somehow I knew you were the cause of this.”
Oh goodie. It was the same Watcher from the café. “Look, I don't have time for this,” I said. My nerves still jangled from the fight with the killer tornado, and I actually hoped the Watcher would rise to the challenge in my voice.
“Of course not,” the man said in a flat voice. His featureless black mask reflected the flames from the burning cars. “I am simply informing you that this incident will be classified as a gas leak. This will be your story when the police question you. Do not deviate from it.”
“Or suffer the consequences, blah blah blah,” I snapped. “I'm so happy you're willing to dole out justice to little nobodies like me. What are you guys doing about the person who did this?” I waved my hand vaguely at the flames behind me.
“If it gets out of hand, we will.”
“This isn't out of hand? Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled, but then stopped as pain burned through my ribs. It was enough to take me down to one knee. The Watcher said nothing so I glared at him while the puddle soaked my jeans. “Fine. Just know that if a woman and her daughter show up dead tomorrow, part of it will be on your head.”
“It always is,” the man said. His monotone voice dipped in what might have been regret. I couldn't tell, because my brain was too occupied in keeping my lunch down from all the pain lashing through my body. “I would also suggest, Mr. St. James, that you think about why the tuurngaq was sent after you, and plan accordingly.”
The rain thickened and a nasty wind snaked up and raked me across the face. I wiped my eyes with a wet hand and looked around the parking lot. The Watcher was gone.
Wow, that almost sounded like a piece of advice at the end. Next thing you know we'll be doing each other's hair.
The Watcher's words nagged at me as I stood up, but with the adrenaline wearing off my brain didn’t want to process thoughts. Flee and sleep, my brain told me. That’s a good boy.
But the words continued to nip at my heels as I limped down the street.
The Watcher had said to think about why the tuurngaq was sent. It was a Native American demon, for lack of a better word. It was also a bitch to summon, even when you took power from a storm like this. First you had to find someone who still believed in it, and then you had to channel that bit of belief.
But summoning a demon, no matter what religion, was never easy. That came over time, as your soul became blacker and more in tune with the demon you called. Most sorcerers summoned the same creature over and over for just that reason.
With a knot forming under my ribs, I reached into my jeans pocket and sighed with relief when I touched my cell phone. I thought about writing a letter of endorsement to the phone company as I flipped the cell open. Something on the order of “Need a phone that can withstand a rampaging hurricane? Try Motorola!”
Beth’s number went to voice mail before ringing.
Tough or not, why had the tuurngaq been summoned? It must have been hard to find a sacrifice that actually believed in it these days, along with the power needed to bring it into existence. So why didn’t our mysterious attacker just use No-Eyes again?
I tried Beth’s work number. A fast beeping told me there was trouble on the line. I tried her cell again, but once again no ring, just Beth cheerfully telling me to leave a message.
What if the tuurngaq wasn’t the only demon summoned?
I stopped right in the middle of the street. When faced with two threats, the best thing to do is to send two assassins.
They had sent No-Eyes after Beth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We sped down the 90 express. Well, sped being a relative term in the pouring rain. “So what's the plan again?” Thelma asked.
I sat in the passenger seat of one of those new, midnight blue Volkswagen Beetles and tried not to breathe too hard. Thelma’s car was clean, but not spotless, although I did feel bad about dripping all over a bunch of papers under my feet. An attempt to pick them up had released a hiss of pain from my broken ribs so I quietly left them there.
I had called Thelma and asked her to pick me up, and then I had to wait. Beth was in danger, but there wasn’t anything else I could do. My reserves were gone, and I could feel the Hunger beating a path to my door.
When Thelma met me at the convenience store down the street from all the chaos, I must’ve looked worse than the weather outside, because Thelma insisted she take me to the hospital. I stopped her by telling her in short gasps what was at stake. Besides, I could heal later; Beth and her daughter wouldn’t be able to.
My intent was to simply borrow her car, and somehow I ended up in the passenger seat. Go figure.
“The plan?” I grimaced. “The plan is to get Beth and Amanda out of there and then sleep for a year.”
“I thought you said she was on holy ground?” Thelma asked.
“She is, but I’m sure our attacker knows that, and he still sent the demon after her. Which means he has a plan.” Wow, just saying those sentences made my vision gray at the edges. With a jerk, I opened the brown bag on my lap and pulled out the steak and egg sandwich Thelma had been kind enough to toss together for me. It’s a good thing she served breakfast all day.
I wasn’t particularly hungry, and actually the pain was making me want to bring the food back up, but I needed the red meat. I had pushed myself pretty hard with the tuurngaq, and I needed protein to keep the fever in check.
“You want to tell me what happened?” Thelma asked with a sideways glance at me.
“Tuurngaq.”
“Gesundheit.”
I managed a smile. “It’s a Native American spirit. All wind and bad attitude, especially toward us white settlers.”
“I’m glad my ancestors were in Jamaica. Was it nasty?”
“Real nasty.” I flinched as we hit a bump. “I barely got out of there.”
“You always seem to barely get out.” She frowned into the rain.
“Ah, but I do in the long run. That’s the point.”
“I still think you need a hospital.”
“And I think you’re sweet. After we save the day you can take me to whatever hospital you like and have them shoot me full of morphine. But first I have a job to do.”
“We have a job to do.”
“Thelma—”
“Don’t you ‘Thelma’ me. You can barely walk, let alone fight this thing. I have some tricks. It pays to be the sister of a Houngan.”
“Except even Jake’s magic can’t stand against Hell these days. You’ll be safer in the car.”
She paused and gazed through the front window. “There’s an exit up here to Seattle General. I think I’ll take it, since I’m the one driving. That’s where you’d be safer.”
I raised a hand. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anger threatened to wash over, but I pushed it down. If she wanted to get herself killed, who was I to argue?
Except I didn’t
want to see her hurt, and I didn’t think she had any idea what she was getting into. But I bit down my retort because she was right. I needed help with this one, or else Beth and little Amanda would end up dead.
Thelma and I didn’t speak again as we exited off the 90 and entered downtown Seattle. Every time we stopped at a light I had visions of the demon tearing Beth and her daughter apart, and by the time we made a left on Rainier I was bouncing out of my seat.
Downtown gave way to art museums and shopping centers. This was the outskirts of the city, where quaint brick buildings sat next to modern concrete beasts like old-timers sitting with their grandkids. An indoor shopping mall gobbled nearly a full block, right across from a two-story mom-and-pop art gallery. It always seemed that every year downtown expanded a bit more, taking a little more of the old with it.
The car turned right onto First Ave and I saw the glow. The rain obscured most of the details around us, but as Thelma steered the car down the avenue I could make out the flames. My breathing hitched.
Beth and Amanda might have been on hallowed ground, but that didn’t mean the street was. And even holy ground can burn.
We pulled up next to a parking meter. The street was devoid of traffic, both pedestrian and vehicle. No fire trucks swooped in for the rescue, no flashing lights sped toward the scene. I stared at the flames. We must have missed the demon by minutes.
“Maybe they got out,” Thelma said.
I nodded.
“We need to check,” she continued.
I would, except my legs didn’t want to listen. I felt old, broken, and just plain tired.
“Nick?”
Fear whispered in Thelma’s voice, and I closed my eyes and took a painful, razor-filled breath. Sitting here wasn’t helping. The demon might still be here. I could feel the sick waves of fear coming from Thelma, and yet she was still willing to head out to investigate.
So instead of wallowing, I opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain. The sky was an endless river trying to fill the grief inside.
Demon Dance Page 13
