by J. A. Pitts
Finally, he sees my shield lying to the side and drags Jean-Paul’s body onto it, pulls a knife from his boot, and bleeds Jean-Paul onto the shield. Then he cuts Jean-Paul’s heart from his broken chest. He holds the bleeding muscle to the sky, chanting wildly, and then bites into the heart.
Power erupts around him, tendrils of light weaving in with the blood and the shield. Finally, he uses his knife to cut deeply into his own abdomen and lies on the shield, allowing his blood to mingle with Jean-Paul’s. The shield glows with a bright blue flare. Justin floats upward, spinning in the air, the remains of Jean-Paul’s bloody heart held to the sky in one bloody fist.
He screams as his body smokes.
The wound in his abdomen closes, leaving behind a violent white scar. His hair is streaked white from where he ran his bloody hands through the locks. His face and torso are scarred with puckered pink handprints and smears. The scene fades into mist.
I jerked my hand from the shield and whirled around.
“You see?” Qindra asked.
The shield acted as a filter, polluting the energy flowing from the nexus. The power here was incredible. No wonder Anezka had grown erratic. Control of the amulet had shielded her at first, but with it switching allegiance, that no longer protected her. Once Qindra broke the shield that Flora had managed to create here, things went from bad to worse. The tainted flow was unimpeded. The broken things, shades and foul spirits, suddenly had a vibrant flame to flock to.
And here, in the flux and the chaos of the vortex, a great beast rose from the grave. I could taste his taint in the energy, feel his aura in the black power that coursed through this place.
“Jean-Paul,” I screamed, and the eating things swung their great attention toward me.
“Come on,” I called to them. “Come to your final death.”
One of the great eaters spun away from Qindra and flew at me, but it was nothing compared to my fear and anger. I cut through it like it didn’t exist. I was a mad woman, crazed and out of control. I yearned for the berserker, craved the mindless violence that would clear the horde that stood before me.
For the dragon was there. He fell from the house, a solid mass of shadow and smoke, beautiful and terrible. He turned his great gaze upon me. For a second he seemed disoriented, but his laughter echoed into the hall, and unfathomable hordes of nether creatures flew from his great form.
“Eat her; shred her,” he called, laughing in his madness. The madness I had stilled once already, the voice I had sundered with this very blade.
I fought like a dervish, cutting through the monsters, fighting my way to Qindra. If I could free her, somehow, I had a chance.
Before long, I was covered in black welts and weeping sores. This was my spirit, I knew, but the pain was real, and the ice of the monsters’ touch burned brighter than I had ever imagined.
Then, as suddenly as it started, I was free from them, free from the burning and the biting. I fell to my knees, weak and joyous. Gram clattered to the ground, and Qindra touched my forehead.
“Be healed,” she said, her voice hoarse and raw.
I was inside the sphere, inside her protective circle.
“What the hell’s going on?” I gasped.
“Hel is right,” she said. “The dragons have killed the gods, down to the last dregs, and Hel has been closed for time out of mind. They,” she waved at the black creatures that spun about the room, diving into the field, only to be broken and consumed by the others, “should go to the underworld; they have been trapped here on Migard for thousands of years.”
“Um, ghosts?” I asked. “You’d think we would’ve heard about this sooner.”
“Things have shifted, Sarah.” I could see how tired she was. “You broke the covenant; you cracked the world, and this is what has come out to play.”
I looked out to the swirling spirits as they fell upon one another. Jean-Paul reveled among them, consuming any that drew near him.
“I’ve tried to reinstate the barrier over the property,” she said. “They cannot escape, but they are being drawn here every minute.”
“And I saw Jean-Paul,” I said, watching the energy rise into a fountain. She had diverted a thread from the nexus, pulled it to her. It bathed us, filling me with vigor.
Qindra watched me for a moment and shook her head. “It is seductive, this power,” she said.
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure,” she offered. “Did any of my people get away?”
The look on my face told her all she needed. I could feel the sorrow bleeding from her, sending tiny cracks into the shield.
Qindra looked at me sadly. “We cannot leave,” she said.
“Katie is out there,” I said, grabbing her hand. “I’ve got to get back to her.”
“It’s taking everything I can muster to keep the barrier up,” she said. “I cannot get you out of here. Your only hope is Katie, I’m afraid. If she can free you somehow, you may have a chance.” She was earnest. “I just cannot risk letting this madness escape.”
Well, that was a gut punch. Trapped here forever in a house of horrors. “I guess it’s in Katie’s hands then,” I offered.
“I just don’t understand how the shield came to be here.”
“He brought it,” I said. “The necromancer. He was Anezka’s lover.”
She twitched, sending a ripple into the air around us. The shield vibrated for a moment and a face appeared, young and lean. Justin floated above the shield. Words flowed through the ether, gibberish to me, but in a language that Qindra seemed to understand.
“He was a disciple of Jean-Paul’s,” she whispered. “He used Anezka to get access to the nexus. Used her and tortured her while all the time he worked for that bastard.” She pointed across the cavern.
The dragon swirled in and out of focus, the great beast trying to hold its shape in the madness of the other creatures that flooded the room.
“When I killed Jean-Paul, he was there. At the lake. I saw it all when I touched the shield.”
Qindra looked sickened, weak.
“The shield has been reforged in flame—imbued with both Jean-Paul’s and Justin’s essence, and their blood,” I said.
“Aye,” she said with a nod, “but it also contains your blood and some of your spirit.” She looked up at me. “It holds Jean-Paul to this place. Ties his spirit to this world. But it also feeds this necromancer, gives him access to this energy.”
Of course, that was the missing link. When he’d visited recently … what had Bub said? five months? Not long after I killed Jean-Paul. That’s when he planted the shield. That’s when the madness really began to overwhelm Anezka.
“What can we do?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Not yet.” She began chanting again. The sagging force-wall strengthened, and the spirits were thrown back. “But I must concentrate,” she said, exhausted. “I must keep the monsters from being loosed upon the world.”
I knelt down, brushed the hair from her eyes, and kissed her on the forehead. She was feverish, but strong. I willed some of my power to her.
“I broke the original seal,” she said with a weak smile. “When you brought me here. The woman who carved the supports wove the field about this place.” She pointed to Justin, whose image floated beyond Jean-Paul. “His first lover. She knew. She sensed all this. That is why the barrier was there, why the carvings are all through the house. You have not seen them all; they are powerful and frightening. All the better to hold the spirits here, to keep their dark yearnings confused and trapped.” Her voice was growing fainter as her concentration grew stronger. “My fault,” she said and then fell silent.
I picked up Gram and stood, waiting for the wall to fall, for the time when I would give my life to protect her.
Oh, my dear Katie. I hoped she was okay in the house. Might have been a bad idea to bring her after all. “Are you there?” I asked. “Can you see what I see?”
Fifty-eight
>
Katie tensed for the killing blow, but it did not come. Jean-Paul drew back, shock on his fluid face. “She is here?” he bellowed. “This should hold you.”
He lunged at Katie, opened his mouth, and breathed. Smoky blue flames erupted from his mouth.
Katie rolled across the floor. The flames smashed against the kitchen cabinet and splattered across the room. Blue slime covered Katie’s shoulder and back as she scrabbled under the broken table, reaching for her guitar.
She had to save Sarah. Jean-Paul reared back once more and sucked in for another breath.
“No flame?” Jean-Paul roared, obviously confused.
Katie grabbed her guitar and pulled it to her chest. More shades were flowing into the house, but Jean-Paul turned at them, snapping them up. Each one seemed to bolster him, give him more density.
The blue ectoplasm began to smoke across the tile and up the cabinet. Katie felt a burning itch in her back. She rolled farther under the table, sliding the guitar to the side and pulling her jacket off. The sludge on her jacket was smoldering, like electric blue Jell-O made of battery acid.
Jean-Paul roared, thrashing about, and pulled his great forelegs through the ceiling, manifesting more of his bulk.
“Hide from me, little bug,” he said, laughing. “I will deal with your lover first. You are not going anywhere.”
With a sound like a sonic boom, Jean-Paul dove through the floor, leaving a scattering of crawling and biting things in his wake. They moved as one, flowing across the living room toward the kitchen. The first few that arrived smashed into the ectoplasm and flitted into vapor, but the next wave learned and moved around.
Katie looked around desperately. Taking her guitar, she began to strum, her hands shaking. A feeble light sprung from her, but it would not keep them all at bay. She was too weak, too afraid.
Then she saw it. She knew it from Sarah’s description. The box that Qindra had shown her lay against the wall, spilled from the table when the room had been wrecked. She crawled to the back corner, grabbed the box, and ripped open the lid. The vial lay nestled in its Bubble Wrap home.
The first horrors reached her, scrambled up over her shoes. The first bite on her leg convinced her of her path. They were eating her, not her flesh, but the spirit. Each bite was a flash of pain like a burning ember.
She pulled the vial out, broke the wax seal, and wrenched the stopper out with her teeth. Without hesitation, she tilted the vial to her lips, drinking the harsh brew.
Harsh was not a strong enough word. The coppery taste of blood was overpowered by the yeast and alcohol. The mead was by no means fermented adequately, but from the moment the liquid touched her lips, she felt the power surge into her.
In an instant she knew exactly what to do.
She snatched her guitar from the floor, slamming out chords that Sarah would recognize. Heavy metal washed through the room. The vermin flew from her, washed into nothingness by the blast of song that rolled forth.
A bubble of golden light pushed outward, larger than before, more solid and strong. She stood, pushing the table to the side, righting the refrigerator and blasting away the ectoplasm dragon fire in a flash of gold.
I’m coming for you, lover mine
The wolves will cower in their dens
Raise your broadswords, stamp your feet
Tonight we ride to victory!
She strode from the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hall. The oozing walls and scrabbling spirits melted before the might of her song. Golden light washed away the foulness, leaving the walls and floors clean in her wake. Katie turned to the final room, pushed the door open with her hip, and strode to her lover.
As the light filled the room, destroying the shadows, Sarah moved.
In a blink she went from holding Qindra’s shoulder to swinging around.
Katie stumbled back as Gram sliced the guitar from her hands.
The song faltered, and Sarah stumbled forward to her knees.
“Oh, god. It was him,” she mumbled. “Jean-Paul. I was fighting him again.”
Katie dropped the shards of the guitar and grabbed Sarah. “It’s okay; we’ll beat him together.”
Sarah wrapped her arms around Katie and buried her head in her shoulder.
“We gotta move,” she said. “Find a way out.”
“What about Qindra?”
Sarah just shook her head. “She’s holding the dome, keeping them contained.”
The crow squawked from the other room, and Katie looked around. The spirits were still coming to the house, drawn like moths to the flame. The only other living creature in the place, she thought. Time to set him free.
She stood, helping Sarah to her feet, and turned. Lyrics flowed from her as she began to sing again, about apples and love.
The glow that surrounded them was slighter without the guitar, but it was strong enough to allow them to see. They crossed the hall quickly. Sarah gasped, but Katie did not look back toward the living room. No time.
Once they were in the room, she opened the cage, never missing a note. The crow squawked once, hopped out of the cage, and flapped up, its mighty wings beating.
Sarah slammed the bedroom door shut. “Zombies!” she cried, moving the dresser over the door.
The crow flew up onto the dresser, squawking manically.
Mirror? “Sarah!” Katie shouted. “What about the mirror?”
Sarah turned from the door. “Damn, girl. You’re a freaking genius.”
Sarah grabbed the edge of the mirror and shouted, “Skella, for all that is holy, pay attention. Open the mirror!”
Something slammed against the bedroom door from the hall, and Katie began singing again.
Sarah shouted and smacked the mirror with her open palm. “Come on, damn it. Answer.”
Then Skella was there. The room behind her was a maelstrom of activity.
“Sarah? Where are you? I can’t see you.”
“Never mind,” Sarah said, “get us out of here.”
“Okay,” Skella said. “Hang on!”
Katie sang louder, letting the music overcome her fear. The pounding from the hall grew more insistent. Tendrils of smoke curled from under the door.
“You first,” Sarah said to Katie, who shook her head no.
“This is our only shot,” Sarah said.
“Okay,” Skella shouted. “I’ve got it opened, but it’s shaky; you’d better hurry.”
Katie wasn’t budging.
“Shit,” Sarah swore, then sheathed Gram, jumped from the bed to the dresser, and dove through the opening.
Fifty-nine
I rolled into the new room. It was huge. Football field in width, with a high domed ceiling. A dozen or more dwarves hustled about. In one corner I saw Melanie working on someone, and Gletts was nose to nose with a dwarf, yelling about crossing a line. I looked back, and the mirror had become opaque. Katie hadn’t come through.
“Open it!” I shouted, rounding on Skella.
She leaned against the mirror, straining, tears running down her face. “It’s too…,” she stammered, “hard … fighting me … too much.”
“Katie!” I screamed, collapsing onto my knees in front of the mirror. My reflection shone back at me in the blackened glass.
Sixty
Frederick sat back, smug in his victory. Young James “JJ” Montgomery sat across from him, sipping his pinot noir and enjoying the company of the young barista Mr. Philips had scared up for the evening.
“I’m flattered,” JJ said, setting his glass on the coffee table and looking around the huge room. “I like to think I could make it in Hollywood, but…” He shrugged. “You know. I’m no superstar.”
The girl, Bridget, Bethany, something with a B, leaned in and kissed JJ on the cheek and squeezed his thigh. “I watched you in Blood Brothers Two. You rocked.”
“Yeah,” JJ said, beaming.
The girl leaned in, running her hand up his thigh and cupping his crotch. “Oh god,
yes.”
Frederick smiled. This was almost too easy. Of course the young man had talent, he’d seen it right away, but the speed at which he was so easily manipulated just added to his value. “Chance of a lifetime,” he said over his glass.
“Your work in Elvis Versus the Goblins was spectacular,” the young woman gushed.
JJ blushed. Brittany said something to him quietly, and he looked around, as if afraid Frederick had heard.
Frederick just smiled. The girl would bed him soon, perhaps here on the leather sofa, if given a chance. He loved the little pushes he’d made throughout the evening. Dinner, wine, plenty of wine, promises of glory and sex. Not to mention his subtle charms, the heat he could instill in the willing. Delicious.
JJ drained the last of his wine, and Belinda kissed him, hands on either side of his face, holding him to her.
“A toast,” Frederick declared.
Bonnie and JJ turned, seemingly having forgotten Frederick was in the room. They were both quite inebriated.
“I’m dry,” JJ said, holding up his glass.
“I’m not,” Betty said, giggling into the side of JJ’s neck.
“I’ve been saving this,” Frederick said, standing and plucking the glass from JJ’s hand. “I think you’ll find it amazing.”
He walked to the bar, allowing the young ones a moment to grope. He took the mead from the cabinet where Mr. Philips had stored it earlier and poured it into the young buck’s glass. He poured himself a scotch and turned back, clearing his throat.
Brenda paused, her hands obviously working the front of young Montgomery’s trousers.
JJ’s eyes were mostly glazed.
Frederick handed JJ the glass and held up his scotch.
Brandy took up her glass of pinot grigio and held her glass high. “A toast,” she said.
