A Haunting in the SWATS (The Savannah Swan Files Book 1)

by Balogun Ojetade

  Carter roared from the basement, the sound so tortured it no longer held any humanity. Savannah knew that sound. It would not be long now.

  Savannah crashed through the mess of a bedroom, then sprinted down a hall into some sort of parlor. Something glowed in the little room – a ball of light sitting on a low, triangular table made of deer antlers and ram horns strapped together by ribbons of tendon and leather. The light ignited the runes scribbled on Savannah’s torso and neck. The writing itched like poison oak, but Savannah found herself helpless to do anything but stare at the light. It burrowed into her mind, strangling her thoughts before they could form. There were words, buzzing, rasping, but she could not understand what they were trying to tell her.

  “Nice try, Root Woman.” Savannah recognized the voice behind her. It was the man from the forest. “Shoulda gone out the front door when ya had the chance. Now you’re screwed.”

  A thick arm wrapped tight around Savannah’s neck, then squeezed.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Savannah said, wheezing, shaking off the witch-light’s mind-numbing power. “You need to let us go.”

  The man laughed. Savannah felt hot breath against her cheek. “We ain’t never lettin’ ya’ll go, Root Woman. Not after what ya done to the family.”

  “You don’t understand,” Savannah gasped. “He’ll kill us all.”

  The man squeezed Savannah’s neck harder still. “No one can kill me. Not anymore.”

  Savannah’s vision flashed red, then black. Her lungs screamed for air. She dug her fingernails into the arm around her throat, but the big man did not loosen his grip. They did not understand what was happening. She had to make them see the danger before it was too late.

  She snapped her knees up to her chest, using the unexpected weight to pull the man holding her forward.

  The big man bent at the waist.

  Savannah’s heels hit the floor. She lowered her chin, then slammed her head back, driving the attack with the strength of her legs.

  Something crunched against the back of Savannah’s skull. She felt warm liquid roll down her neck. The noose of muscle and bone around her throat went slack. She lunged forward, hurling the big man over her shoulder. The man’s back crashed into the floor with a loud thud.

  Savannah stumbled into the room, opening up some distance between her and her attackers.

  She rubbed her throat then turned back toward her attackers. She had to get out of there; get them all out of there before Carter turned and came upstairs looking for blood. “Run,” she croaked. “Get out of here while you still can!”

  The big man and his brothers – the resemblance, although some had skin as dark as pitch and some had skin as pink as a carnation crayon, was unmistakable – laughed. The big man shook his head. “You don’t call the shots around here, bitch.”

  They came at her in a rush; no tactics, just a wall of heavy fists pummeling her head and shoulders. They put the boots to her once they had her on her knees, slamming kicks into her ribs and arms as she tried to shield herself.

  Savannah did not want her boy to kill these men. She could not have Carter breaking the Road Laws. Nothing was worth that.

  “Please.” She raised one hand, only to have a punch knock it aside then plow into the side of her head. She felt dizzy; she could not tell if it was a concussion or from whatever they had done to her while she was trapped in the carcass of the pig upstairs.

  Another roar rose up from the basement. The boy had done it. Carter had changed.

  Now they were all screwed.

  “We been waitin’,” the big man said, towering over Savannah. He bent at the waist, then wrapped his thick fingers in her hair. The big, pale man wrenched Savannah’s head back then stared down into her bruised eyes.

  Savannah stared back. The big man’s left eye was wrong, the pupil so dilated it seemed to have swallowed the eye’s iris.

  “Been waitin’ a long goddamned time.” He punctuated his words with a backhand slap that split Savannah’s lip and made her ears ring.

  Half-deaf, Savannah could still hear Carter roar.

  Savannah stared back up at the man, trying to form the words to warn him. But her lips were too swollen, and her jaw felt slack and too loose. She stared at the big, black eye until she realized the pupil was not a single black hole. There was a trio of pupils, mashed together inside that thin band of white. They swirled around one another, a mad orbit that made Savannah’s skin crawl.

  “Let us go,” Savannah said, her voice thick and slurred. “Before it’s too late.”

  The men laughed again.

  Savannah felt sick. Not for herself, but for Carter; for what she had done to her own boy.

  She had used her children. She had tramped Lashey all over Atlanta to look into so much weird crap she could not even remember it all. She had done the same to Carter – night hunting trips and dawn hikes through the woods and the ‘hoods that ended with gunfire and shallow graves. Hunting the darkness was never easy, but Savannah had lightened her load by leaning on her family. She had warned them against walking the There Road, threatened them by showing them what she did to others who fell to the darkness.

  If she did not get Carter out of there, the boy would end up being one of the very monsters Savannah had used him to hunt.

  And if she survived, she would be the one who would have to kill the boy for falling to evil.

  Savannah tried to push herself up, but the big man kicked her legs out from under her. Someone else kicked her in the kidneys; another someone planted a boot in her hip.

  Another roar echoed through the hotel, an ululating predator’s cry that froze the molly-heads. Their eyes widened and Savannah could see they all shared the same monstrous pupils in their left eyes. She knew once they turned their attention back to her, it would only be a matter of minutes before they had stomped her to death.

  She took advantage of their distraction to draw on one of the gifts of her office – reaching deep into the dark hollow of her mind that held a portion of the mayor’s otherworldly power. With the wound on her neck now healed, Savannah could turn that power to other uses. The supernatural strength poured into her veins, pushing her flesh far beyond its mortal limits. Hanging on to that kind of raw energy made Savannah stronger, faster, tougher, but for every second it blazed inside her, the power stole a page from the book of her life.

  Savannah let her newfound strength propel her onto her feet. Her fist hammered into the chin of the big man with enough force to lift him into the air.

  She followed through with a backhand that pulverized the face of the skinniest junkie. The man fell to the floor, his face as flat as a slice of hot water cornbread.

  The big man came back at Savannah, still dazed from the sucker punch but ready for the fight. He threw a left hook, then a vicious swooping right when Savannah tried to dodge away. The blow caught Savannah in the ear. The ringing in her head became a deafening buzz.

  “Still got some fight in ya?” The big man snorted then spat out a blood-slicked tooth.

  Savannah led with a right jab that the big man slapped out of the air. Savannah let the momentum carry her forward, then stomped her left foot down on the inside of the big man’s right knee.

  The big man’s leg folded outward with a sound like ripping cloth.

  He went down, screaming, with both hands wrapped around the ruined joint.

  One of the others hooked his arms around Savannah from behind, bending her into a clumsy full nelson. The man clung to her back like a burr, wrenching at Savannah’s arms while the big man struggled to get back to his feet.

  Savannah figured she could beat the three of them, but she did not have time to mess around. If Carter broke loose and found her tangling with these fools, there would be nothing but blood and scraps left of all of them, including Savannah.

  As if sensing Savannah’s worries, Carter roared from the basement, and a brittle, metallic crunch echoed through the hotel.

  The
Root Woman threw herself backward, falling into one of the chairs.

  The witch-light wobbled on its heavy table.

  The man on Savannah’s back screeched in pain as the chair splintered apart under their weight.

  The big man lurched forward on his good knee, hands stretched out for the light.

  Savannah kicked the edge of the table with both feet. “Catch,” she said, grinning.

  The big man cried out. The other addict, still on his, feet stared at the luminous ball in horror. The glowing globe tumbled off the edge of the table.

  Savannah rolled off the wounded molly-head behind her, then grinded her foot into the man’s groin. She ran from the room, grinning at her attackers’ howls of pain and despair. As she fled, Savannah released the mayor’s power. It had served its purpose; she would do the rest on her own.

  There was still time. She needed the junkies to chase her out of the house. Carter would still get loose, but if he could not find anyone to kill, Savannah would not have to worry about dealing with the aftermath.

  She ran, kicking open doors and bolting down hallways, trying to stay just ahead of the molly-heads; to keep them running.

  The big man limped after Savannah, shaking the whole first floor with his uneven strides.

  One of the junkies was waiting and threw a clumsy punch that caught Savannah on the chin. The blow sent the Root Woman staggering sideways. She caught herself against a wall coated in peeling paper.

  Savannah countered with a punch of her own. She pulled it at the last second, landing a blow just hard enough to get the addict’s attention. If she knocked the idiot out, Carter would have him filleted in a heartbeat.

  “Run,” Savannah growled, kicking the downed man in the ribs. “Get out of here if you want to live!”

  Another metallic crunch came from the basement, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. An enraged roar shook the floorboards, sending Savannah and the molly-head running in opposite directions.

  Savannah’s memory was fuzzy. She could remember the general layout of the hotel from her last visit years ago, but the specifics were lost to daily doses of ganja. She kept her head down and her legs pumping, doing her best to get back to the front of the hotel and out the door.

  Other feet were pounding the floorboards – junkies trying to catch Savannah or escape, running every which way.

  Something heavy hit the basement stairs at a full run, its steps a rolling thunder as it scrambled up to the ground floor.

  Savannah’s mouth went dry. Carter was coming.

  “Run!” she shouted. Following her own advice, Savannah scrambled for an exit.

  Another roar shook the hotel, this one so close Savannah could feel its pressure against her skin. They were all running out of time.

  Savannah burst into a hallway she recognized then darted to the left. The front door was wide open. She just had to get to it.

  Two of the junkies beat her to it, tangling up as they tried to get through the doorway. They pushed and shoved at one another, their drug-addled brains misfiring with panic.

  Savannah ran toward them, intent on pushing them both through the door. Ten long steps, a quick shove, and they would be in the wind. She could deal with them after she got Carter back under control. Now that she knew who was behind the mess at the restaurant, she could clean it up later.

  A sleek, blood-slicked figure burst into the hall before Savannah. Its arms were long enough to drag the ground when it stood upright, and its legs were squat and coiled to spring. All-too-familiar eyes glared at Savannah over a bear-like snout bristling with fangs as the beast let out a mad cry.

  The Root Woman’s stomach tightened. She felt her pulse pound in her ears. Years had passed since the last time she had seen her son change. It was still terrifying. “Carter,” Savannah said. “Don’t do this.”

  The monstrous human-honey badger hybrid whirled in the hall, sweeping its long, taloned fingers at the men in the doorway. They cried wetly as their torsos, severed from their lower bodies, tumbled through the door. Carter followed them into the fading light of the setting sun, howling his rage as he disappeared down the front steps.

  Savannah chased Carter, racing toward the doorway. She could not let the boy kill anyone else; she could not let him continue to break the Road Laws. She could excuse the deaths of those two junkies, but no one else. Things were bad enough without having to kill her son.

  Savannah made it to the front door in time to see Carter covering ground with terrifying speed. Savannah watched her son leap, arms stretched out in front of him, wicked claws flashing in the moonlight.

  Savannah shouted her son’s name as she bounded out of the hotel, hardly noticing as her naked heels cracked steps and jarred planks loose. Savannah pushed herself harder, sprinting after Carter. The rough gravel bit into her naked soles with every step, but Savannah ignored the pain and pressed on. She had to get to Carter before the boy lost control and killed again. She had to get them both out of there before the whole flock of mole rats and raccoons poured up out of that pit and ate them alive.

  And the sunlight was close to gone.

  Carter roared as he headed for the road.

  A shadow limped out from among the trees ahead of Savannah, a familiar weapon hanging loose in its hands. “Well, lookie what we got here.”

  Savannah skidded to a stop as the barrel of her revolver swung up toward her face. Her hands shook; she licked her lips as terror spiked her nerves. She felt weary and energized at the same time, ready to run in a random direction but frozen to the spot. In the last light of the sun she could see greased hair, and gray coveralls spotted with blood and oil. Savannah had no idea how the big man was up and walking. He looked as if the busted knee she had given him minutes before was not slowing him down.

  “Just the man I was looking for,” Savannah said. “Hand over the revolver so we can wrap this up.”

  “On your knees, Root Woman.” The big man kept the revolver’s barrel pointed at Savannah’s head. “You’ve had a good run, but time to git what’s comin’.”

  A man screamed from the road, the lost wail of a doomed molly-head. Carter answered with a predatory roar that made Savannah’s stomach clench.

  “You hear that?” she said. “That’s the sound a real monster makes. That’s the sound of death coming for you and yours. Give me the revolver, and maybe some of you get out of this mess with your asses intact.” Savannah sneered at the big junkie, doing her best to hide her horror as she listened to her son hunt.

  “The Root Woman fights monsters, not bring ‘em out to play.” The big man took a step closer to Savannah, stepping out from between the trees. “Don’t exactly follow rules, now do ya?”

  “I do my job.” Savannah clenched her jaw. “I burn witches’ nests, I kill devil worshipers. I should have killed your whole damned family back then.”

  The addict was two yards away. His eyes glittered like dying embers in the failing light. “The only difference ‘tween us is this here i.d.”

  Savannah saw it then. Her identification card, pinned to the man’s ragged coveralls. The badge of her sacred duty, stuck on this demon-lover like a trophy. The sight made Savannah want to tear the man apart. She regretted the mercy she had shown him years ago.

  “How’s it feel, Savannah?” The revolver’s muzzle looked as big as a train tunnel so close to her face. Green runes glowed an angry warning around the black hole. “How’s it feel to know all that stands between life and death is one man with his finger on the trigger? A man with every reason to want you dead?”

  “It’s not the i.d. that makes us different. The i.d. doesn’t hold the power.” Savannah forced herself to breathe, to let the saw-tooth burn of adrenaline mellow, settle into her muscles and nerves where it could do her some good. This was not over yet. “It’s the duty.”

  “Scaring old men? Burning down folks’ homes? That duty?” The revolver inched closer to Savannah’s face. “You ruined my grampa;
threw down our gods; burned my family out of our goddamn home. Ya think this is what we wanted? Weren’t hurtin’ nobody. Then you come along with ya big gun and ya i.d., and we lose it all.”

  Savannah could hear the creak of the revolver’s hammer. The man was squeezing the weapon so hard Savannah was amazed he had not pulled the trigger yet.

  Savannah stared into the man’s three-pupiled eye. “What was your grandpa doing down in that basement? Why do you think I came out here all those years ago?”

  “He was a healer. He helped folks, makin’ ‘em feel good with his music; helpin’ barren women to birth babies; makin’ sure folks got justice on they jobs.”

  The molly-head took another step, jabbing the gun at Savannah with each word. “Your mama wouldn’t never have done what you did.”

  “My mama died,” Savannah growled the words, keeping her voice low. “Because she didn’t know how to handle There Road hoodoo men, like your grandpa, or their inbred, white-boy-looking hillbilly sons, like you.”

  “What did you say?” The big man leaned in close. The revolver was inches from Savannah’s face now. She could feel the draw of the gaping barrel; the scent of death wafting from the old weapon’s throat. “You’re gonna die, like your mama!”

  “Then do it,” Savannah shouted.

  The big man jumped at the sudden outburst.