An idea struck me. “I’m veiled now, right?”
He nodded.
“So whoever is in the house can’t see or feel my presence.”
Jack glared in my direction. So much for our brief bout of mutual friendliness.
“Don’t go getting more cowboy ideas,” he said coolly. “First of all, whoever made you itch already knows you’re here. Just because you pop out of his magical senses doesn’t mean he forgot you. Second, anyone in the house can hear you, just like I do. I can’t see or sense you, it’s true, but I hear your voice. They would hear your footsteps. They’d hear if you spoke to Diego. They would see and hear doors or windows opening. Veiling works best for those who hold still and are quiet.”
“That’s not true,” I blurted, forgetting to be polite. “When Halverson’s fetch confronted Diego and me in front of my house, I’m sure no one heard our conversation. I kept half an eye on passersby and people would have turned their heads and looked around if they heard conversation but couldn’t see who was speaking. No one did.”
Jack’s neck colored with a slight blush. “I, uh, only gave you a minimal cloaking spell.”
“Why?”
The blush on his neck deepened in color. “Because if, later, I have to account for giving you the spell, I can say it was a minor one that wouldn’t last long. I also threw an extra bit on you so you’d forget the words and couldn’t use the spell in the future.”
I tried to speak but all that came out was a sort of frustrated croak. Jack wanted to save the kidnapped men but his MP rules were too ingrained—he couldn’t bring himself to give what I needed to achieve our shared goal. It seemed crazy to me, but as Jack had once said, being magical didn’t make one less human. I’d have to work with what he was willing to give and drag him slowly into providing more.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll just quietly snoop around and see what we can discover.”
“We?”
“Of course, we.” I poked him gently in the side with my elbow. “The cavalry isn’t coming. It’s up to us cowboys. Get yourself veiled and we’ll head to the house.”
He didn’t look happy, but he chanted low and disappeared from my sight. The car felt suddenly empty of anyone but me. It was very odd not to at least feel his presence.
“Jack?” I said.
I reached out with my psychic senses and registered the faintest feel of him. I relaxed slightly.
“Okay,” I said. “I get it. Stay quiet, don’t move, and be practically undetectable. Unfortunately we really have to get up to the house and see what we can see. Let’s go.”
I opened my door and the door on the passenger side opened as well. It was weird having to trust that he’d gotten out and was beside me. I started walking toward the back of the cul-de-sac and was happy to hear the faint footfalls of Jack keeping pace with me.
We were nearly to the house when I felt a new presence moving alongside us. My stomach began to knot.
Ghost. At least one, maybe more.
I’d almost forgotten about the ghosts of those poor, murdered plague victims. Almost forgotten how their spirits were being held on this plane. How I’d been sure the ghosts and the sacrifice planned for the Vulture Moon were tied together.
I wasn’t forgetting them now. Not when cold hands closed around my throat.
Chapter Twenty-one
The pressure on my windpipe made me gag. How could insubstantial hands press so hard? I clawed at the very strong nothings tightening around my throat. My hands went right through and I scratched my neck hard enough I thought I might have drawn blood. Jack had undone his veil—so I could see he, too, had been attacked, I thought. How could we fight invisible attackers?
The same way you fight a visible opponent, I reasoned. I brought my forearms together in front of my throat, my palms touching, and then sprung my arms out hard to the sides.
The pressure on my throat released. I brought my knee up hard to where I hoped the ghost’s groin was. There was nothing there and the momentum of my thrust made me stagger back to catch my balance. As I did, I glanced over to see that Jack seemed to float an inch or two above the sidewalk.
Which I thought meant that even though the ghosts might feel insubstantial, they weren’t completely. Which maybe meant that what substance was there was could be bound.
Stupid me. Of course the ghosts could be bound. Someone or something had already bound them to this plane, bound them for a while in the place they died and then brought them here. They were being controlled, but how? I had to figure that out before I could figure a way to turn the spirits back on their killer.
If it could be done, wouldn’t Jack have already done it?
The ghost he was tussling with seemed to have gotten the better of him. Jack lay on his back, gasping. I took a step toward him only to feel cold, hard grips on my arms. The ghost spun me halfway around and kicked my legs out from under me.
I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Hands wrapped around my throat again and squeezed. Evidently the ghosts were quick learners. Something pinned down my arms.
It didn’t make sense that a spirit could have this much strength and intelligence. The sigil on my arm had barely tingled or warmed—so the ghost didn’t have any animosity toward me. Was the same entity that controlled Gil also controlling these poor trapped souls? Souls that did their master’s bidding without feeling?
Dammit. I needed strength and energy from the sigil. Why wasn’t it working?
I brought my hips and my knees up fast and hard, knocking the ghost off me. Since I couldn’t see it, I had to guess where it might be. I lunged to the side and clipped something. An arm, maybe.
Jack had gotten the best of his ghosts again. At least it looked that way with him kneeling as though something lay beneath him and hitting the air below him but pulling his punches each time so he wouldn’t slam his fist into the concrete.
If any of the very few neighbors looked out their windows or a hapless jogger came around the corner onto this crazy scene, I hoped they’d call the cops.
Except that I was still veiled. Anyone looking would see Jack, who’d been smart enough to make himself visible, but that’s all. Since the ghost seemed to have no trouble finding me even though I was invisible; the veil was no advantage.
“Jack,” I yelled. “Can you unveil me?”
“No,” he yelled back.
No one could see me, but they could hear me. I started screaming, pushing my voice out in front of my mouth, making the wail as loud as possible. I screamed and screamed.
And in the midst of a scream remembered that while Dee hadn’t taught me a veil spell, he had taught me a universal key to undo any spell a student like me might cast on herself. I cut off my scream, muttered the undo spell, and suddenly could see my solid body. I started screaming again.
A front door opened and a man’s voice called, “Hey! What’s going on out there?”
I heard hard footsteps coming rapidly toward us. The icy cold of the ghost’s body moved off me. Jack rolled over and lay panting on the sidewalk, his ghost evidently gone as well.
A pair of blue jean-clad legs came into my line of sight.
I looked up at a man probably in his thirties, of medium height but more than medium weight. His hair was brown and a little shaggy. His hands were on his hips, his elbows thrust out at his sides
My mind spun formulating some sort of story or excuse to give him. I pulled myself to my feet and dusted dirt off my pants and shirt.
“Did you get the time?” I said to Jack.
The policeman looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but was quick enough to glance at his watch and say, “Yep.”
I nodded and held out my hand to the man.
“Oona Goodlight,” I said. “This is Officer Jack Conroy. We’re conducting a neighborhood lookout exercise. I have to commend you. You, sir, are a good neighbor. It took you less than a minute after hearing a woman scream to not only look to see what was
happening but to step into the fray yourself.”
The man had been looking at us with skeptical eyes, but straightened himself and stood a little taller when I named him a hero.
I leaned forward and dropped my voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know, in some neighborhoods, no one ever comes to help. They don’t even make a call to the police. Can you imagine?”
“Well,” the man fumbled, not sure what to say.
“That’s the best thing to do, you know,” I continued in my conspirator voice. “Call the cops.”
“That makes sense,” the man said.
“Come on,” Jack said to me. “We’re due down in Malaga Cove for the next trial.”
I smiled at the man as we walked toward my car.
“Jack Conroy?” he said once we were out of earshot, arching an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged. “I didn’t want to give your real last name. Chances are he’ll never mentioned this to anyone even remotely connected to the Magic Police, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Considerate and a fast thinker.”
I almost blushed.
Back in the car, I drove around the corner and half a block down, then parked.
The sun had long since set. This being Palos Verdes, there were no streetlamps to snap on with comforting light. The only light came from inside houses or the headlamps of passing cars. If the night were cloudless, light would come soon from the stars and full moon. I made myself not think about the darkness, to stay calm and focused on getting Dee and the others out of that house, not on what could happen if we failed.
“Okay,” I said. “Obviously they know we’re here and can guess why. I’m not sure what the best next step would be.”
Jack grinned. “Next, we cowboy.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Twenty or so minutes later, Jack and I had devised a plan. Or rather, Jack had devised a plan. It seemed sketchy to me, but since I couldn’t come up with anything better we were going with it.
I’m a fast study and it was true that in the Brume I’d learn the spell Dee recited for me the first time through—but I wasn’t in the Brume now and Jack wasn’t Dee. He spoke the veil spell phrase by phrase again and I repeated it until I vanished from view. He’d also worked out a spell we hoped would hide me from any spirits hanging around. No point in sneaking up on the house again just to be attacked by ghosts.
“Be careful,” Jack said to the spot where he’d last seen me.
“I will,” I said and started toward the house at the back of the street. No one could see me, but I approached cautiously anyway. Anyone near could hear the soft slap of my rubber-soled red high-tops. If someone accidently touched or knocked into me, they’d feel the same solid me as if I were visible. The man who’d come out in response to my screams was back in his house, but you never knew if someone might take it in their head to walk the dog or something.
My mission was simple—locate exactly where Dee and the others were in the house and, if I could, get to them psychically and ascertain if any of them were coherent enough to help in the rescue. I also wanted to figure out who or what was in charge, to know what we were up against. If I could tell Jack that, he could better formulate the magic we needed to combat him, her, or it.
Spiky nerves ran through me as I came close to the house. Ghost sentries were still around but they were back in that frozen limbo state I’d felt before. There had to be a reason for it. It seemed unlikely that whoever was in charge believed Jack and I had run off and were no longer a threat. Maybe the ghosts needed to recharge after our fight. Maybe the dark sorcerer needed to recharge his or her magic as well. I hoped that was the case. Hoped that his or her resources were low—too low to spend any of what was left on harming the three men. Or in keeping track of a veiled psychic.
When I reached where the edge of the houses’ walkway and the sidewalk met, I sent my senses into the house. Dee felt groggy but not as bespelled or drugged as he had before. Either he was shaking off whatever had been done to him or his captor was bringing Dee back to consciousness for reasons of his own. I felt around for The Gate. He was as still and unresponsive as before. He felt how I imagined a coma patient might—someone so deep in sleep that nothing that happened in the lively world meant anything to them. I reached out to feel for Gil and gasped.
Anger. Fury. Rage. Gil’s emotions were so strong that even though they weren’t directed at me, my sigil tingled and warmed. My head throbbed and my stomach cramped. I’d thought that someone or something had sway over Gil. I’d been wrong. No one was controlling him.
I closed my eyes and focused on the prize—getting Dee safely out of the house. Getting The Gate out. I snuck up under a window of the room where I felt strong emotions, carefully eased myself up and peeked in the window. Dee sat stiffly in a hardback chair in an otherwise furnitureless room. He wasn’t physically bound, but either something magical held him or he was doing a good job of faking it. Gil was with him.
“—always you, little brother,” Gil was saying, his voice cold and biting.
I slipped into Dee’s mind. His thoughts were hazy but he could hear Gil, comprehend what his brother was saying. I felt his frustration. His worry for The Gate. For himself. He knew what Gil was after, and it scared him.
I felt the new worry in Dee as he recognized the tickle inside his skull and realized I was close. I wished for maybe the hundredth time that I could make him hear my thoughts, but my psychic abilities were a one-way street.
Gil paced the room the room. “Fucking adults. ‘Tremendous natural ability,’ they’d say about you, oohing and ahhing over some simple spell you’d mastered. ‘Gil will never be the wizard Diego will.’
I moved over some and tried to see Dee’s eyes but couldn’t. I slid back into his thoughts and saw him stiffen slightly when he felt me again. He didn’t want me at the house. I was one more thing to worry about. But he was glad I was there, too. Felt stronger himself for my presence. His thoughts clattered in and out of lucidity, clear one moment, fogged the next.
Gil drew in a breath and blew it out harshly. “And your damn mother. Sauntering into our lives and stealing my father away as if it was her right. The beautiful Imelda, the renowned bruja. ‘It’s in the blood,’ they’d say about you. Well, what does that say about me, with a mother who is a talented wizard but not up to the dazzling Imelda?”
God, the venom in his voice as he lay out every grievance, real or imagined, of his entire lifetime. Dee was the better skater and had moved into being a goalie only because he felt sorry for Gil—the older brother constantly shown up on the ice by the younger. Dee’s sisters were mean bitches who’d ruined his tenth birthday celebration, among other sins. Dee’s mother looked down on him.
He hunkered down in front of his brother, their faces level.
“My hand put every protective rune and sigil on your body,” he said, “and I never cheated. Every single time I did my best. And you know why, Diego? Not because I loved you and wanted you to be safe. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. I did it because I am fucking great at my art and I wouldn’t compromise that even to see you hurt. Hell, I even did a fan-fucking-tastic job on your girl friend’s sigil.”
Screw you, I wanted to yell. You aren’t the wronged party here. You aren’t the good guy.
He turned suddenly in my direction. I was veiled but still blanched, fearful he somehow knew I was here. I carefully felt into his mind. No. It was coincidence he’d mentioned me and then looked toward where I stood. He didn’t seem to have noticed I’d slipped into his thoughts either. He was too consumed with his rage and hate.
“But tonight, little bro,” he said, “I will have my perfect revenge. I will be more powerful than you ever were. I will be more powerful than The Gate. My one regret is than neither of you will survive to see it. Well, you will, for that brief time after The Gate’s death pours his magic into me and before your own death gives me your powers.”
M
y heart thumped hard and my stomach cramped. I fought back the nausea while my head swam with questions. If Dee was the stronger wizard, how was Gil keeping him enchanted? Not only Dee, but The Gate as well.
The ghosts tethered outside the house began to stir. Were they the source of Gil’s power somehow? There were three dead magicals that I knew of. He might have control of the six dead acolytes as well. There could be additional dead we didn’t know about. Had Gil stolen the ghosts’ magic for himself?
In any event, there were more of them than I could handle if they all came for me. I knew I should get back to Jack and tell him what I’d found out, but I couldn’t make myself leave Dee in Gil’s control.
Through the window, I saw Gil glance at his wristwatch.
“It’s 9:15,” he said. “The moon reaches peak fullness at 9:33. Eighteen minutes until I sacrifice The Gate and gain his powers. You will follow, little brother. That gives you a bit more than twenty minutes to live.”
Panic ran through me. I had to leave now, get back to Jack, and put his plan into motion.
I couldn’t leave. I had to find a way into that room and stop Gil.
The ghosts were still stirring around me, but they didn’t move. They swayed wildly back and forth as if a strong wind buffeted them but their feet were anchored to the ground. Anger swirled in some and fury in others—all focused on the men inside the house. Their emotions made my head feel ready to crack open.
Gil leaned close to Dee’s ear but spoke loudly enough that I could still hear.
“What will you think about in those remaining minutes? All the things you planned that will never happen? Will you worry what will happen to your mother and sisters once I have The Gate’s power and yours in me? Will you think about Oona? I know what you feel for her. I saw it in your eyes that day at the shop.”
I’m an empath. I knew what Dee felt for me, had known the moment ‘liking a lot’ had slid into love. Knew the moment my heart had flipped from one to the other as well. Knew I’d stop Gil from hurting Dee, whatever it took.
Vulture Moon Page 15
