by SJ Himes
Ulysses took one look at the wendigo, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt. He blitzed away, the ghost disappearing into the wall so fast he was nothing but a blur of mist and sulfur. Angel suspected he would see Ulysses again, but not for a long while.
“What…” Simeon backed away. “What is it?”
The creature filled the passageway, hunkering down on its back legs, a rawboned, twisted humanoid being that towered over them, its vaguely canine features and eyeless orbital sockets a black void. It was huge, even crouched over, and hellfire chains wrapped around its unnaturally long arms, legs, and torso, binding it to Angel’s will. Which was good, considering the ghoul was even more dangerous than it had been when alive. A spear, the haft broken away, leaving behind only the tip, protruded from its back where a heart would be on a human, the stone spear having ended its torturous life hundreds of years before. Shamanic magic glittered from the spear head, only the passage of centuries and Angel’s death magic allowed him to summon it from its grave.
“The Algonquin nations that once populated Massachusetts coastlines prior to the 1600s called them wendigos,” Angel answered Simeon and yanked on the chains. The wendigo growled, snapping its jaws, and Scáth growled back, the hellhound at a wary distance. “This one died long before Europeans colonized this continent. It’s going to help us get out of here.”
Movement at the stairs drew Angel’s attention—Scáth howled, turning to ravage the leg of a very stupid enforcer who took the chance to see what they were doing. Hands grabbed the fool and yanked him back upstairs, screams fluttering downward. “We can’t go out the back here. Too much material and I can’t guarantee you won’t be fried in sunlight before I get us cleared to the service alley. If it was just me, I would fight my way out of here, but I was unconscious when they brought me here—I have no idea what’s upstairs. I can shield us as we leave, but there’s plenty they can do to keep us here. This way, we just tear through them and get to the street. Let’s hope the cops don’t shoot us when they see my buddy.”
Of course, it was very likely the police would open fire when an undead wendigo turned ghoul cleared their way through the Council enforcers. Hades knew Angel would attack first and ask questions later. His shields could stop spell-flung debris—they might be up to stopping bullets. Despite the former historical enmity with the BPD, Angel hadn’t been shot at yet. He was sure O’Malley thought about it on occasion.
13
Howling Madness
Simeon kept a wary distance from the dead creature his Leannán called a wendigo. Scáth hunkered down at his heels, growling quietly. Angel shook the hellfire chains, the links sounding real as they clattered, the ends wrapped tight around Angel’s wrist. Sulfur and the stench of the grave filled the passage. Giselle still swung unconscious from his shoulder, but her heart beat strongly and her breathing steady and deep.
Simeon eyed the wendigo with distrust, but he trusted in Angel’s skill, his power. Angel was young, only thirty mortal years, but he surpassed many sorcerers twice his age or more in talent, knowledge, and sheer power. Simeon had no doubt his love would get them out their current predicament.
He just didn’t expect their escape to come about is such a…unique way.
There was a soft cough from the stairs. Scáth growled again, but Simeon put his free hand to the hellhound’s shoulders, keeping the beast in place at his heels. Angel tugged on the chains, and the wendigo shuffled over a step, letting its new master walk past. Simeon and Scáth went ahead, Angel between them and the wendigo, protected. Whoever stood on the stairs just past the bend coughed again.
“If you get me sick, I’m gonna be extra cranky,” Angel said loudly. Simeon shook his head, a smile coming to his lips.
“Magister Malis would like to offer you all a chance to surrender. The police are here, and there’s no way out of the dungeons.” Whoever was speaking sounded unsure and reluctant to be there, and Simeon didn’t blame the mortal. The situation was far from ideal, on both sides.
“And what’s gonna happen if we surrender?” Angel said, deeply sarcastic.
“You will be held until your trial in one of the rooms upstairs, and you’ll be allowed supervised visits with your, um, your…?” The mouthpiece around the bend sounded confused, and an angry person muttered something to him Simeon could hear. Malis was up there, whispering instructions to an unfortunate subordinate. “Your mate. Your mate can visit. The hellfire beast needs to be surrendered as well. Proscribed magic charges won’t be levied against anyone for the spells cast to summon it.”
Angel rolled his eyes, and Simeon shifted Giselle on his shoulder. Scáth snarled the noise echoing up the staircase, and the fool speaking for Malis squeaked in alarm. Angel muttered under his breath. “Proscribed? Fuck her. She’s making laws up as she goes...” Angel raised his voice. “So yeah, we’re gonna confab about surrendering. A minute, please.”
Simeon laughed, and Angel winked at him. “The text said Milly was outside the police lines?” Angel asked, keeping his voice down.
“Yes. I sent the text to her advising her to get to the limo. I have not checked to see if she went. My driver is under orders to not leave, so the limo should be parked at the curb out front. No text saying he moved, and the bloodclan flags on the limo would keep the police from bothering it. Not sure about the Council thugs.”
“We’ll see when we get up to the street.”
“You mean to fight our way out?” Simeon said to be sure. He smiled, fangs dropping. “After all, you were generously offered a room upstairs.”
“And conjugal visits too. Kinky.”
“I’ll not be parted from you.” Simeon knew Angel was aware of how he felt but saying it was necessary. To voice his intent to the universe so fate was on notice—Simeon would not lose his Leannán. Angel’s expression softened, despite their situation and undead company, and Simeon warmed at the love he could see shining back at him from Angel’s dark green-brown eyes. They weren’t hazel—but a mix of dark chocolate browns and moss green, the greens unseen until a person got closer and took their time looking. “The world will bleed if anyone tries to imprison you again.”
Angel gazed back at him, the silence pensive. “I believe you.” Angel nodded once, slow, then pointed at the stairs. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind. I’ll be raising a shield as we go—stay right on my heels so you don’t get hit by spells or bullets. You’ll live, but Giselle won’t.”
Simeon nodded and backed to the wall, letting the wendigo and its grave stench pass by him. Simeon nudged Scáth with his knee. The hellhound whimpered, head tilting. “Defend—cosain.”
Scáth wagged his long, heavy tail.
“Mo ghra? Won’t the police be unhappy with your new pet?” Simeon wondered, and Angel shrugged.
“Oh, yeah. This isn’t going to last long. The sun is still out. You’ll see.”
“The fiend and myself have something in common then. Let us hope the bloodclan limo is still at the curb.”
Angel moved to the stairs, ducking under the wendigo’s arm. It growled, snuffling at Angel’s hair, breath moving the longish strands. Angel’s hair was the longest Simeon had seen it in three years; he rather liked it that length and hoped Angel wouldn’t get annoyed with it and cut it short again. Angel wrinkled his nose at the stench of the undead beast and shouted up the stairs. “We talked. No surrendering. I think it only fair I offer you the same courtesy. Surrender now, let us leave, and none of you will regret getting out of bed this morning more than you do already.”
“Surrender?” Malis shouted down the stairs. “You arrogant fool. It will take more than a vampire and his pet doggie to keep you from prison, Salvatore. No more chances. I have orders not to kill you, but that doesn’t mean this won’t hurt.” Footsteps told Simeon she backed away from the stairs. She shouted next. “Get down there and stop them!”
Simeon snarled quietly at the magister’s threat. If he had a chance to take her out, he would not hesitate. The sta
irwell lit up, blues and reds over their heads, and then an answering hellfire green rose, shining bright enough to cast an emerald glow over everything.
Angel’s shields caught the spells, a dark blue absorbed into the green before dissipating, and a red ball of spell fire bounced on the shield and hit the ceiling, fizzling out. Angel held a shield in a half-sphere, the rounded side between them and their opponents. The wendigo howled, an eerie cry that echoed off stone and rose through the mansion, the walls shivering.
“Impetus.” Angel’s command was followed by madness.
The wendigo charged up the stairs, the chains increasing in length, Angel in its shadow. Simeon stayed behind Angel, and Scáth brought up the rear. Giselle moaned weakly as she bounced on his shoulder, and Simeon tightened his grip, hoping she would stay unconscious long enough for them to escape.
Angel laughed. He should feel bad, he supposed, for enjoying the absolute terror blooming on the faces of the unlucky enforcers at the top of the stairs. Spells died mid-thought as the wendigo howled again, its cry shaking the walls. It reached out with a long arm, smashing a wall to splinters, burying two enforcers in the rumble. A spell, swirling gold and white, blasted from the left, bouncing off Angel’s shield. Malis screamed at him, her hands coming together to cast again. He reinforced the shield, and her next spell rebounded, heading right back at her. She swore and ducked behind a door.
The wendigo snatched an enforcer off his feet, slamming the man into the ceiling then the floor, chains rattling. Angel tightened his grip on the links, and the wendigo cried out in frustration but let the enforcer live, throwing him into a room off to the left of the hall.
Simeon came up the stairs behind him, and Angel closed off the shields, one mutable sphere of hellfire around them, the wendigo out front outside the protection, and Scáth behind the shield. “How do we get out of here?” Angel asked over his shoulder, the shouts and whirring of spells from the enforcers loud. The wendigo sank into a crouch, and leapt forward, long, skeletal hands with curved claws catching two enforcers who foolishly dared to enter the hall in front of them. One unleashed a thin, dark red rope of flame and light, that spun through the air, cutting everything it touched with slices that sizzled. The wendigo howled when the red rope hit its arm, but it held fast to the enforcer. The spell was meant to kill—the damage it caused was severe when it touched mortal flesh, but the wounds on the wendigo merely smoldered. The spell died when the wendigo threw the enforcer through a set of doors off to the right, the man tumbling head over heels before the swinging doors shut behind him.
“Follow this hall—it goes to the front door.” Simeon pointed past them, and Angel shook the chains. The wendigo snarled back at Angel, its eye sockets burning with hellfire, fangs dripping ichor. The other enforcer it held fainted, going limp, and the beast dropped him, the man landing in a tangle of limbs and dark dueling gear.
The wendigo led the way, lumbering down the hall, walking much like a gorilla would, but it was too tall for the hallway, having to bend over to keep its head from smacking into the ceiling. It left dirty, sulfurous footprints on the stone floor, and Angel laughed, shaking the chains to encourage it to go faster. They walked fast behind it, Angel’s shields registering impacts from spells. Each hit quivered across his mind, and Angel poured more power into the shields, guarding their backs.
He could see the front door past the wendigo’s hulking form, the glass doors letting sunlight pour across the foyer. The sun was at enough of an angle now that the canopy out front wasn’t blocking the light anymore. Through the glass, he saw the bloodclan limo, idling at the curb. Milly stood at the rear door, one hand up to shade her eyes, and O’Malley was next to her. He knew they saw them when O’Malley blanched, and Milly put a hand to her throat, eyes wide. Cops stood in the street, and there were some enforcers from the Council interspersed with the police.
The wendigo fit in the foyer far easier, standing straighter, head just brushing the high ceiling. Angel expanded his shields, and stood to the side of the beast, and he pointed to the wall where the curve lay in shadow, protecting Simeon from being roasted. Simeon carried Giselle into the shadows, inches from the sunlight.
Scáth was missing, and Angel looked for the hellhound but saw no sign of him. Had Simeon dismissed the hellhound since they were nearly free?
The wendigo blocked the doors, and the people on the street were freaking out, the cops and enforcers alike uncertain what to do. Milly was gesturing at the building, and it looked like O’Malley was trying to drag her out of danger.
“Salvatore! You will not leave here.” Malis shrieked, and she appeared in the hall behind them, furious, hands clenched to fists, two bedraggled and bruised enforcers at her back. She gestured to her people. “His shields won’t last forever. He hasn’t reached for the veil, not even a Salvatore can withstand us all for long. Wear them down and stay out of reach of the beast.”
It might have worked if Angel were anyone else. He hadn’t reached for the veil, and no one’s personal reserves lasted forever. Angel wasn’t drawing on the veil or his personal reserves, and they would not get the chance to learn that, not if he could help it. They needed to get out of there. The enforcers and Malis prepared spells, ready to attack his shield until it collapsed under the strain.
A shadow of hellfire loomed behind them. Scáth leapt on Malis, the hound having dropped back at some point during their flight to the exit. She screamed, faceplanting on the tile floor, and Scáth stood on her back, two dinner-plate sized paws on her shoulders. He growled, bloody fangs bared, sniffing at her nape. He did not bite or maim but held her down. Simeon spoke quietly to the hellhound in his native tongue. Scáth remained posed to attack but restrained himself, obedient to his master’s order. The two enforcers with Malis raised their hands to cast.
“Attack us or my sweet pup again, and I will order him to rip out her spine.” Simeon’s voice was void of compassion—cold, sharp, and unmoving. He would let Scáth kill Malis. “Stand down. All of you.”
Malis tried to struggle, but Scáth was larger than she and heavier by far, and his paws were hellfire hot, her dark dueling jacket smoking under his claws. She gave a strangled scream of frustration but stopped when Scáth snapped his jaws inches from the side of her face, spittle dripping to land on her cheek. “Stop! Stand down!”
The enforcers hesitated. “Stand down, damn you all! Let them go!”
The enforcers lowered their hands and stepped away, watching them with angry eyes and tense frames. They were clawed and bruised and dirty, the wendigo’s claw marks on their dueling clothes.
Angel wasted no time. He spun to the doors and pushed out with a hand, a wide wave of kinetic magic hitting the doors. They swung out fast, the hinges snapping and groaning, the metal warping as he forced the doors to open the wrong way. Glass shattered and fell to the stone stoop, falling in a shower of glittering shards.
“Angel!” Milly called. She sounded was worried and held his athame in one hand, the blade catching the sunlight.
Sunlight.
“Milly! Open the limo door and get out of the way,” Angel shouted. She hesitated, confused. “Just do it!”
She ran for the back door of the limo and flung it wide then darted out of the way. Angel turned to Simeon and his burden. “Can you make it to the limo? There’s no shade—the sun is at an angle and the canopy out there is useless.”
“I did so coming in. I can move fast enough. I am hesitant to leave you alone.” Simeon’s eyes glowed a brilliant emerald in the shadow, his eyes catching the sunlight that bounced off the walls.
“I’m not alone.” Angel pointed to the wendigo. “Leave Scáth. Go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Simeon adjusted his grip on Giselle. “One minute, my love, or I will return with the bloodclan at my back at sunset, and we will drain dry anyone who seeks to keep me from your side.”
He meant it. Angel smiled. “Go.”
Simeon was fast. He went out the front entr
ance so fast Giselle was a blur of white against Simeon’s dark suit. Milly shouted in alarm, and then the limo door swing shut. He hadn’t even seen Simeon get in.
He breathed out a long sigh of relief. Time to manage his own exit.
14
Giving up the Goods
The wendigo snarled down at him, but Angel still held a tight grip on the chains—the undead beast wouldn’t get a chance to eat him.
“Angel!” Milly called from the street, and O’Malley looked like he wanted to charge the consulate, but the detective would have no choice but to stay outside, constrained by human laws. The consulate was off-limits. Technically, Simeon wasn’t even allowed inside, since the vampire bloodclans were sovereign entities themselves. Simeon didn’t care much about mortal rules, not when it came to protecting the ones he loved. They might get blowback, but Angel doubted it, since there was no way Batiste would let Simeon get in trouble.
Scáth still held down Malis, but with Simeon gone and the whistle with him, Scáth would only follow his master’s last command until they were reunited. Angel couldn’t override the compulsion in the spell without destroying it, so he let Scáth continue to be threatening. For a hellhound, he was a very good boy.
