A Snake in the Grass

by K. A. Stewart

  Carlotta’s jaw grew tense with strain as she tried to hold the scattering powers together.

  “Easy kid…You gotta hold it together, or your mom’s gonna lose connection.” Carlotta couldn’t spare the attention to chide him, but I could, and as I’d hoped, the sound of my voice reached wherever he was. He closed his eyes for a few deep breaths, and the thorns on his magic tendrils smoothed out.

  In the cauldron, Paulito’s mouth moved as he talked to someone out of our sight. We wouldn’t be able to see his companion, the salt of the spell attuned only to the salt in Paulito’s own body. But we might be able to get an idea of his location if we could just discern what he was doing.

  Sitting, obviously, that was the first thing. He was lounging back in some kind of low chair, one hand drifting to his mouth and away as he idly smoked a cigarette. The chair was vaguely visible where he touched it, as was the floor where his feet rested. He gestured with his other hand as he spoke, dismissing something with a sneer and a roll of his eyes. At some point, someone handed him a bottle, which only appeared in the vision once he held it in his hand. It was disturbingly like he had just willed it into being. He swigged out of the bottle, then gave another wave, obviously bidding farewell to whoever was in the room with him.

  We needed him to get up and move, that much I knew. A snapshot of the room he was in was going to be next to worthless unless we could place just where it was. Come on, get up…move… I didn’t realize that I was thinking it so hard until the skin of my back grew warm, and I started to feel the lines of every single tattoo that decorated my shoulders. In the salt picture, Paulito paused for a moment, his head tilted like he’d heard something, and then with a thoughtful frown on his face, he slowly got to his feet.

  “Jesse! Stop!” Carlotta hissed at me, and I tried, I really tried.

  Down, guys, back off. This isn’t our show. They didn’t want to listen to me, I could tell that much. The muscles around my shoulder blades cramped as my passengers lodged a formal protest. They could help, why wouldn’t I let them help? The message was plain as day.

  Paulito turned his head to his left, obviously speaking to someone else. He was still frowning, and he shrugged in response to their unheard question. At some prompting, he held his hand out to the unseen person, and there was a ghost of a shape there as another hand took his. It wasn’t enough to see the person, but the fingers were delicate, the skin the same shade of light gray as Paulito’s. Reina. Had to be.

  The moment their hands touched, Paulito jerked upright, his spine ramrod straight, and his gaze whipped to the right…straight at us. Almost like he could see right through the water and salt, watching us as we watched him.

  That’s not good… Paulito gave a sneer and mouthed a few words with exaggerated care. Estéban whispered, “He says he sees us.” That’s really not good.

  A knife appeared in his other hand, and with a smirk, he turned away from us and very deliberately ran the blade over his palm. A plume of bright red blossomed in the bottom of the basin, the white of the salt quickly overwhelmed by the sudden burst of color.

  The souls in my skin went crazy, and for once I totally agreed with them. “Drop the spell. Carlotta, drop it!” When she couldn’t respond, I tried to barge in, fully intent on kicking the basin over. I was brought up short at the edge of the circle, slamming into a wall that smelled like Terrence’s mossy magic. Dammit! I bashed my fist on the barrier, but knew already that there was simply too much magic in me to allow me to cross. “Carlotta! Kid, snap out of it! Sveta!”

  The red water swirled, faster and faster, and I could only watch as a shape rose up out of the depths. A head, vaguely human-shaped, but with a mouth full of fangs and eyes that gleamed the blood red of an angry demon. It dragged itself out of the depths of the water, rising a foot, two feet into the air. A clawed hand appeared, clamping down on the edge of the basin, and I knew, just knew that if this thing crawled its way out of that water, we were in deep shit.

  I shouldn’t have worried. I was in the presence of two of the strongest spell casters I knew, and they had the strength of two younger folk thrown in on their side. With a grim frown, Carlotta made a gesture with her hand, and the rope of combined power looped around the creature’s neck. Terrence motioned, and the rope grew taught, strangling the thing. The sound that rose from its throat was a choked snarl, but the single clawed hand abandoned the edge of the basin and instead scrabbled at the cord around its throat.

  “You are not welcome here.” Again, the four spoke in unison in their respective native tongues. “Begone, and do not return.”

  It was working, I realized, the blood-salt thing melting slowly back into the cauldron. The lips curled back from its fangs in impotent rage, the coil of combined magic dragging it back down into the water. The water itself bubbled and churned, boiling with the force of all the power that was running through it.

  The thing wasn’t done, though. With one last thrash, it managed to sink its teeth into the rope that bound it, and what followed could only be described as an explosion. The basin erupted, boiling water splattering in every direction, and the force of the blast knocked me off my feet, completely blasting through Terrence’s protective circle.

  I may have blacked out for just a second, the ache at the back of my head clearly revealing where it had met the hardwood floor. What few lights we’d had were out, but I could hear movement as the other four slowly stirred. “Sound off… Who’s hurt?”

  “I am here.” The kid’s voice came first, followed quickly by Sveta’s. “Here.”

  “Bloody hell.” Terrence was conscious, then, but there was no response from Carlotta.

  Something hit my foot and I kicked out reflexively, but it was only the metal basin, now blasted into shards like a wicked metal flower.

  “Mamá? Mamá!” By the time I could crawl over to them, Estéban had found his mother, her head cradled in his lap. “Jesse, she’s not waking up.” There was barely contained terror in his voice.

  I found her pulse easy enough, rapid but steady. Her skin was clammy under my touch, but we were all splattered with rapidly cooling water, so it was hard to tell what was what. “We need to get her into the house. Spell sickness is going to kick in any second, and we don’t know what is going to happen.”

  Terrence was on his feet already. “You boys carry her, I’ll get some things that may help.”

  The kid and I managed to carry Carlotta with as little jostling as possible, Sveta following along to support her head. By the time we’d crossed the compound, the older woman’s body was shaking with chills that were enough to almost knock us over. “Hypothermia…we gotta get her warm.”

  I glanced at Sveta and Estéban, and they were both gray around the edges too. We had about ten minutes before they dropped, they just hadn’t realized it yet. I’d seen this before. It was hard to tell how the body was going to react to a massive spell, to a giant chunk being cut out of the soul. I’d seen Mira suffer from dangerously high fevers and equally life-threatening drops in body temperature. Cameron had suffered a seizure strong enough to stop his heart.

  This was how spell casters killed themselves, I knew. Most magic comes from the soul, the caster using their own to power their spells. Most things were like taking tiny slices off the surface, and the wounds healed over fairly quickly. The bigger spells – things like scryings and explosions – were more like taking an ice cream scoop to the soul, dipping out big hunks, and those injuries took more time to fill back in. Sometimes, the high of working magic overrode the spell worker’s need to rebuild what they were ripping away, and they would just cast until they keeled over dead.

  “Get her on the bed. Get blankets, hot water bottles.” We obeyed Terrence without question, though I kept an eye on the old man too. He’d expended just as much energy as any of the others, and he was older… So far, the only sign of his exhaustion was leaning heavier on his cane, but it was just a matter of time.

  Estéban was the firs
t to go down. He abruptly whirled and ran out of the room, and we could hear him retching into the toilet down the hall. Sveta just sank into a chair in the corner of Carlotta’s room, her skin gone paper white. I checked her temperature with my hand, and she didn’t even have the strength to bat my touch away. Her skin was cool to the touch, but not dangerously so.

  “And…I’m done for, boy.” Terrence found the other chair, dragging it over next to Carlotta’s bedside, and collapsed into it. With a sigh, he rested his head on the quilt next to her.

  “What do you need?” Christ. With all four of them down, this was the most undefended this place was ever going to get. And there was no way to know how long it would take them to recover.

  “Nothing. Just rest. See to the boy. Me and the crazy bint, we can watch here. Come back in half an hour to change out the water bottles.”

  Sveta’s eyes were open, staring blankly ahead through sheer force of will, but I wouldn’t have counted on her to be able to do much of anything. Still, she gave me a small nod, and what else could I do?

  “Kid?” I poked my head into the bathroom to find Estéban curled up on the floor, knees doubled up to his chest in pain. “Aw shit, kid.”

  “Go…go away…” He tried to protest as I took a seat near him.

  “Nah, I’m gonna stay right here.” I rubbed my hand up and down his back, just like I would for Annabelle if she were sick, and despite himself, he relaxed a little. Hey, I’m a dad. We know this stuff. “It’s okay, kid. It’s all gonna be okay.”

  I sure hoped I was right.

  Chapter 15

  What followed was like being witness to the most epic hangover after the most colossal alcohol binge ever. I managed to get Estéban shuffled onto my cot – there was no way I was going to be able to manhandle his lanky butt up into his top bunk – and left him there with a bucket in case he found anything else to ralph up.

  I checked on Terrence and Sveta frequently, both of whom seemed to be dozing off and on, if you can call it dozing when Sveta’s eyes never closed. Carlotta herself seemed stable, her temperature slowly climbing every time we replaced the warm water bottles under the pile of quilts. It was late afternoon when she finally opened her eyes long enough to ask, “Mi hijo?”

  “He’s fine. Resting. You rest too, okay?” I think she tried to smile before her eyes fluttered closed again. At her side, Terrence sighed quietly, never raising his head where he was leaned over on the bed. “C’mon, Terrence. You need to find a bed. Your back is never going to forgive you for this.”

  “G’way.” He swatted at my hands half-heartedly, but finally allowed me to get him to his feet. With a mental note to apologize to Rosaline either, I deposited him into her bed, and came back out in time to see Sveta lurching her way down the hallway.

  “Whoa, whoa… Hey.” I quickly put my shoulder under her arm, taking as much of her weight on myself as I could. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Someone must patrol the perimeter.”

  “That’s fine, and someone will, but not you. You’re going to patrol your way into the boys’ room and thoroughly examine the bottom half of a bunk bed.” She gave me a withering look that might have been more intimidating if she could actually stand up on her own. “Yeah, yeah, kick my ass later. I look forward to it.”

  With the invalids cared for as best I could, Rosaline and I managed to wrangle the kid-pack together and set them at the task of preparing the evening meal. I’d expected more resistance, or maybe just more screwing around, but the boys set in with the precision of a team of line cooks who had worked together for years. I was actually pretty impressed with the group of hooligans.

  Carlotta was propped up on pillows when I brought her a small plate of food, and she smiled fondly when I told her who’d done the cooking. “I made sure my boys would never go hungry.”

  Terrence was snoring loud enough to vibrate the windows, so I just left him, and then brought plates to Sveta and Estéban. The kid eyed his platter of plain tortillas like they were poison. “Just try one. If it stays down, try another.”

  Sveta just sat up and tucked in, mechanically shoveling down food without tasting it. With her plate cleared in record time, she handed it back, then lay back down, turning her back to the room.

  “Guess you’re welcome.”

  And just so I wouldn’t be a liar, I even went out and walked the perimeter around the property. Well, I walked part of it. It was getting dark, and I didn’t have a flashlight, and after the eleventy-billionth mosquito bite, I decided it wasn’t worth it. If the Perez family wards weren’t enough to protect us, then we had much bigger issues to deal with. Y’know, things like what the hell tried to crawl out of that water basin, and how did Paulito even do that?

  Somewhere around midnight, when I dozed with my head resting on the kitchen table, Terrence staggered out into the light, making some grumbly noises that I took to be a demand for tea. I put the kettle on as he slumped on one of the benches.

  “So. This might be a good time to explain a bit more to me about blood magic and what the hell happened back there.” I took the seat across from the old man, giving him an expectant look.

  Terrence shook his grizzled head, silent for a long time, long enough that the kettle started whistling and I had to get up to deal with that. As I poured the water, he finally cleared his throat.

  “We don’t know a lot about it, really.”

  “We meaning who?”

  “Good, God-fearing decent folk.” He took the cup away from me, stopping just short of making the grabby hands motion at it. “The kind of people who practice blood magic aren’t generally invited over for afternoon tea.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” I waited for him to sip at his tea for a few minutes before I pressed him again. “How does it work?”

  Terrence shook his head, running a hand over his wild hair. “Normal magic… Mine, Carlotta’s, the bint’s, anyone’s… It draws from the soul, your own soul. With blood magic, you draw power from other souls, other lives.”

  “But Carlotta was using your power in there, drawing from your souls.”

  The old man shook his head, giving me a scathing look. “It’s about the will, boy, about the intent. We gave her our power willingly. With blood magic, it’s taken by force. For some things, that’s more powerful, the hatred and anger that go with it. You’d never want to set defenses with blood magic, they’d be erratic, unpredictable. But attacks…or summonings…blood calls to it.”

  “Why don’t more people use it?” Unless you counted my suspicions about the Korean sorceress that I’d dubbed Mystic Cindy, I’d never actually seen a practitioner of blood magic.

  Terrence snorted. “Because your own blood will only be sufficient for so long. Then you have to use someone else’s. Then it has to be a death, just a small one, and then, finally, only a human death will keep up the power you need. Once people start dropping, the authorities tend to notice.”

  I got the feeling that he didn’t just mean the police. “The Catholic order… St. Silvius. That’s what they do, isn’t it? They track down blood magic.”

  “Mmph. Sometimes. Tried to get Ivan in on the action about ten years ago, but he told them to get stuffed. Said it was our calling to help lost souls, not to police our own. I think he mostly didn’t like that they couldn’t tell him what they were doing with the casters once they had them.”

  “That’s…ominous.”

  “Mmph.” He slurped at his tea. “But still…we’re going to have to tell them. Short of killing the man, I don’t think we have the ability to stop whatever he’s doing here. If the Order has means…”

  He was right, as much as I hated to admit it. “I know a guy in the Order. I can make a phone call if we can head down into town.”

  Terrence shook his head. “I’ve got my own contacts. I’ll handle it. Carlotta’s not going to take kindly to giving one of her kin over to them. Best she be cross with me, not you.”

  “All right. W
hen do you want to go?”

  “Morning’s soon enough.” With a sigh, he heaved himself up off the bench again. “I’ll get a bit more shut-eye, then take the truck down once the sun’s up.”

  “You can’t go alone.”

  He snorted, raising one hairy brow at me. “You’re no one to tell me I can’t, boy. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, and you still got all those other souls to think of. You’re keeping your scrawny arse right here where it’s safe.” He walked off into the house, muttering under his breath about youngsters and their gall.

  And once again, Jesse sits on the bench. Literally, in this case. I was getting damn tired of being sidelined for my own good.

  The scrying had been an unmitigated disaster, and Paulito would be on guard now, watching for us. We still had no idea why the demons were helping him, or what he intended to do with the stolen armor and weaponry. And all I could do was sit here and play nursemaid til everyone was on their feet again.

  It ate at me the rest of the night, and what little sleep I got was the opposite of restful.

  The next morning saw both Terrence and Estéban upright and functional, and out in the driveway working on Miguel’s bike again. They’d worked for hours, only stopping briefly for lunch when I insisted. Currently, they were both covered in grease and grime, and had tools and equipment strung out for what seemed like forty yards.

  “So here’s the thing that bugs me.” I had perched myself on an overturned bucket, handing them things as needed, and largely thinking out loud about the events of the previous day. Occasionally, one of them would make a noise in acknowledgement, proving that I wasn’t actually talking completely to myself, but for the most part, the small but intricate engine was taking up their attention. Me, I just kept yapping, because it helped to sort out what was going on in my head.