Bloody Bones ab-5

by Laurell Hamilton

  I'd never tried this in anything but a well-organized cemetery. Where each grave, each body, was distinct. The wind touched Larry like a stone in a stream. The power rippled around him. He was alive, and it disturbed us. But we'd been practicing, and we could work around him.

  I was standing on top of bones. Under the earth where eyes could not see. I tried to step off them, and only stepped on more. The earth was thick with bodies, like raisins in a pudding. No eating around them.

  I stood on top on a raft of bones in a sea of dry, red earth. Everywhere I touched was a body—a piece of bone. There was no clear space. No breathing space. I stood there, huddled in on myself, trying to sort through what I was sensing.

  The rib cage just to the left belonged with the thighbone yards away. The wind leaked out and touched piece after piece. I could have put the skeleton back together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. That was what my power would do if I tried to raise it.

  I moved, stepping on the dead, and everywhere I walked I put bodies together. The pieces stayed separate, but I remembered.

  Larry moved with me. He moved surprisingly smoothly through the power, like a swimmer leaving the smallest possible ripples behind.

  A ghost flared to life like a pale, dancing flame. I walked towards it. It rose like a swaying snake, watching me without eyes. There was that thread of hostility that some ghosts seem to feel towards the living. A jealousy. But if I'd been tied to some forsaken piece of earth for a hundred years or more, I might be hostile, too.

  "What is that?" Larry whispered.

  "What do you see?" I asked.

  "I think it's a ghost. I've just never seen one materialize before." He reached out as if to touch it.

  I grabbed his wrist before he could ever have reached. I felt his power flare to life in a rush of wind that should have poured my hair back from my face.

  The circle suddenly widened, like a camera lens spreading wide. The dead awoke under our combined power like twigs touched by fire. Our power spread over them, and they gave up their secrets. Bits of muscle withered to bone, gaping skulls, all the pieces were there. All we had to do was call them forth. Two more ghosts rose from the ground like smoke. It was a lot of active ghosts for this small and this old a cemetery. And they were all angry at being disturbed. The level of hostility was unusual.

  Combining our powers hadn't doubled the circle—it had quadrupled it.

  The nearest ghost stood like a white pillar of flame. It was strong, powerful. A full-blown ghost in a graveyard that hadn't seen a burial in over two hundred years.

  I stared at it. Larry stared at it. As long as we didn't touch it, we were safe. Heck, we were safe even if we did touch it. Ghosts can't cause physical harm, not really. They can grab you, but if you ignore them they fall away. If you pay attention, they can be bothersome. Frightening, but if a spirit causes real harm it isn't just a ghost. Demon, evil sorcerous dead, but not a normal ghost.

  Staring at the wavering shape, I wasn't at all sure this was a normal ghost. Ghosts wear out. They fade to haunts, which don't usually materialize, hot spots that can give you a jolt, then just shivery places. Ghosts do not last forever. These looked pretty damn solid. For ghosts.

  "Stop!" a man's voice yelled.

  Larry and I turned towards the voice. Magnus Bouvier scrambled up the side of the mountain opposite from where we had walked up. His hair fell across his face, hiding everything but his eyes from the moonlight. His eyes glowed in the dark, reflecting lights I could not see.

  "Stop!" He was waving his hands. His long-sleeved shirt was untucked over jeans. He hit the circle of wind and froze. He put his hands up as if he was trying to touch it.

  Two people in one night who could sense the power. Unusual, but sort of cool. If Magnus hadn't been on the run from the police, we could have sat down and had a nice talk about it.

  "We told you to stay off this land, Mr. Bouvier," Stirling said.

  Bouvier looked at him, turning his head slowly as if concentrating on anything besides the feel of power was hard.

  "We've tried being nice about this," Stirling said. "We are not going to be nice any longer. Beau."

  The pump action on a shotgun is a very distinctive sound. I turned towards the sound, gun in hand. I don't remember thinking about it. I was just looking down the barrel of a gun at Beau. He was cradling a shotgun in his arms, not aimed at anything. That saved him. I know if it had been pointed near us, I'd have shot him.

  I was still seeing double. I could see the graveyard behind my eyes where there is no optic nerve. The cemetery was mine. I knew the bodies. I knew the ghosts. I knew where all the pieces lay. I stared down the gun, seeing Beau and the shotgun, but inside my head the dead still reached out for their scattered parts.

  The ghosts were still real. The power had agitated them. They'd dance and sway on their own for a while. But they'd fade back into the ground. There was more than one way to raise the dead, but not permanently.

  I couldn't look away from the shotgun to see what Bouvier was doing. "Anita, please don't raise the dead." His surprisingly deep voice held a note of pleading.

  I fought an urge to glance at him. "Why not, Magnus?"

  "Get off my land," Stirling said.

  "This is not your land."

  "Get off my land or you will be shot for trespassing."

  Beau glanced my way. "Mr. Stirling?" He was being very careful that the shotgun stayed loose, and harmless, in his hands.

  "Beau, show him we mean business."

  "Mr. Stirling," he said again, with a little more urgency in his voice.

  "Do what I pay you for," Stirling said.

  He started to raise the shotgun to his shoulder, but slowly, watching me.

  "Don't do it," I said. I let my breath out all the way until my body was still and quiet. There was nothing but the gun and what I was aiming at.

  Beau lowered the shotgun.

  I took a breath and said, "Put it on the ground, now."

  "Ms. Blake, this is none of your business," Stirling said.

  "You are not going to shoot someone for trespassing on a piece of land while I watch."

  Larry had his gun out too, now. It wasn't pointed at anybody in particular, which I was grateful for. Pointed guns have a tendency to go off if you don't know what you're doing.

  "On the ground, Beau, now. I won't ask a third time."

  He laid the shotgun on the ground.

  "I pay your salary."

  "You don't pay me enough to get killed."

  Stirling made an exasperated sound and moved forward as if he would pick up the gun himself.

  "Don't touch it, Raymond. You'll bleed just as easy as anybody else."

  He turned to me. "I cannot believe that you would hold me at gunpoint on my own property."

  I lowered my gun arm just a touch; it gets shaky if you hold a shooting pose too long. "I cannot believe that you had Beau come up here armed. You knew my little show would attract Bouvier. You knew it and planned for it. You cold-blooded son of a bitch."

  "Mr. Kirkland, are you going to let her talk to me like that? I am a client."

  Larry shook his head. "I'm with her on this one, Mr. Stirling. You were going to ambush that man. Murder him. Why?"

  "Good question," I said. "Why are you so afraid of the Bouvier family? Or is it just him that you're afraid of?"

  "I am afraid of no one. Come along; we will leave you to your new friend." He marched away, and the others followed. Beau sort of hesitated.

  "I'll bring the shotgun down for you," I said.

  He nodded. "Figured that."

  "And you better not be waiting down there with another gun."

  He looked at me for a long minute. At both of us. He shook his head. "I'm going home to my wife."

  "You do that, Beau," I said.

  He walked away, black slicker flapping against his legs. He hesitated, then said, "I'm out of it from now on. Money doesn't spend if you're dead."

  I knew a f
ew vampires that would argue with him, but I said, "Glad to hear it."

  "I just don't want to get shot," he said. He walked away down the slope, out of sight.

  I stood there with the Browning pointed skyward. I turned in a slow circle, surveying the mountaintop. We were alone, the three of us. So why didn't I want to put my gun up?

  Magnus took a step up the slope and stopped. He raised slender hands towards the power-charged air. He trailed fingertips down it, like it was water. I felt the ripples of his touch shiver down my skin, tremble through my magic.

  No, I wasn't putting my gun up yet.

  "What was that?" Larry asked. His gun was still out, pointed at the ground.

  Bouvier moved his gleaming eyes to Larry. "He is not a necromancer, Anita, but he is more than he seems."

  "Aren't we all," I said. "Why didn't you want me to raise the dead, Magnus?"

  He stared up at me. His eyes were full of glinting lights like reflections in a pool, but the reflections were of things that were not there.

  "Answer me, Magnus."

  "Or what?" he asked. "You'll shoot me?"

  "Maybe," I said.

  The slope made him shorter than I was, so I was looking down on him. "I didn't believe anyone could raise dead this old without a human sacrifice. I thought you'd take Stirling's money, try, fail, and go home." He took a step forward, trailing his hands through the power again, as if he were testing it. As if he weren't sure he could cross into it. The touch made Larry gasp.

  "With this power you can raise some of them, maybe enough of them," Magnus said.

  "Enough for what?" I asked.

  He stared up at me, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. "You mustn't raise the dead on this mountain, Anita, Larry. You must not."

  "Give us a reason not to," I said.

  He smiled up at me. "I don't suppose just because I asked."

  I shook my head. "Not hardly."

  "This would be so much easier if glamor worked on you." He took another step up the slope. "Of course, if glamor worked on you, we wouldn't be here, would we?"

  If he wouldn't answer one question, I'd try another one. "Why'd you run from the police?"

  He took another step closer, and I backed up. He'd done nothing overtly threatening, but there was something about him as he stood there, something alien.

  There were images in his eyes that made me want to glance behind to see what was reflecting in his eyes. I could almost see trees, water... It was like the things you see out of the corner of your eye, except in color.

  "You told the police my secret; why?"

  "I had to."

  "You really think I did those awful things to those boys?" He took another step, moving into the flow of power, but he didn't slip easily as Larry had. Magnus was like a mountain, huge, forcing the power to go wide around him, as if he filled more space magically than could be seen with the naked eye.

  I pointed the Browning two-handed at his chest. "No, I don't."

  "Then why point a gun at me?"

  "Why all this fey magic shit?"

  He smiled. "I performed a lot of glamor tonight. It's like a high."

  "You feed off your customers," I said. "You don't just do it for business. You siphon them; that's fucking unseelie court."

  He gave a graceful shrug. "I am what I am."

  "How'd you know the victims were boys?" I asked.

  Larry moved to my left, gun pointed carefully at the ground. I'd yelled at him for pointing guns at people too soon.

  "The police said so."

  "Liar."

  He smiled gently. "One of them touched me. I saw it all."

  "Convenient," I said.

  He reached out towards me. "Don't even think it."

  Larry pointed his gun at Magnus. "What's going on, Anita?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "I can't allow you to raise the dead here. I am sorry."

  "How are you going to stop us?" I asked.

  He stared at me, and I felt something push against my magic, like something large swimming just out of sight in the dark. It made me gasp.

  "Freeze, right there, or I will pull this trigger."

  "I haven't moved a muscle," he said softly.

  "No games, Magnus; you're too damn close to being dead."

  "What did he just do?" Larry asked. There was a fine tremor in his two-handed grip.

  "Later," I said. "Clasp your hands on top of your head, Magnus, slowly, very slowly."

  "Are you going to take me in, as they say on television?"

  "Yeah," I said. "You've got a better chance of getting to the jail alive with me than with most of the cops."

  "I don't think I'll go with you." Staring down two guns, and he still sounded sure of himself. He was either stupid or knew something I didn't. I didn't think he was stupid.

  "Tell me when to shoot him," Larry said.

  "When I shoot him, you can shoot him, too."

  "Okay," Larry said.

  Magnus looked from one to the other of us. "You would take my life for such a small thing?"

  "In a heartbeat," I said, "Now clasp your hands slowly on top of your head."

  "If I don't?"

  "I don't bluff, Magnus."

  "Do you have silver bullets in those guns?"

  I just stared at him. I could feel Larry shift slightly beside me. You can only point a gun so long without getting tired, or antsy.

  "I'll bet they're silver. Silver isn't very effective against fairies."

  "Cold iron works best," I said. "I remember."

  "Even normal lead bullets would be better than silver. The metal of the moon is a friend to the fey."

  "Hands, now, or we find out how fairie flesh holds up to silver bullets."

  He raised his hands slowly, gracefully upward. His hands were above shoulder level when he threw himself backwards, falling down the slope. I fired, but he kept on rolling down the earth, and somehow I couldn't quite see him. It was like the air blurred around him.

  Larry and I stood at the top of the slope and fired down on him, and I don't think either of us hit him.

  He scrambled down the raw earth faster than he looked because he got harder to see even in the moonlight until he vanished into the underbrush left near the midpoint on that side.

  "Please tell me he didn't just go poof," Larry said.

  "He didn't just go poof," I said.

  "What did he do, then?"

  "How the hell do I know. This wasn't covered in Fairies 301." I shook my head. "Let's get out of here. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, I think we lost our client."

  "You think we lost our hotel rooms?"

  "I don't know, Larry. Let's go find out." I clicked the safety on the Browning but left it out in my hand. I'd have left the safety off, but that didn't seem wise while stumbling down a rocky mountainside even in the moonlight.

  "I think you can put the gun up now, Larry." He hadn't put his safety on.

  "You aren't."

  "But I've got the safety on."

  "Oh." He looked a little sheepish, but he clicked the safety on and holstered it. "You think they would have really killed him?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. Beau would have shot at him, but see how much good it did us."

  "Why does Stirling want Magnus dead?"

  "I don't know."

  "Why did Magnus run from the police?"

  "I don't know."

  "It makes me nervous when you keep answering all my questions with 'I don't know.' "

  "Me, too," I said.

  I glanced back once just before we lost sight of the mountaintop. The ghosts twisted and flared like candle flames, cool white flames. I knew something else I hadn't known before tonight. Some of the bodies were nearly three hundred years old. A hundred years older than Stirling had told us they were. A hundred years makes a lot of difference in a zombie raising. Why had he lied? Afraid I'd refuse, maybe. Maybe. Some of the bodies were Indian remains. Bits and pieces of jewelry, anim
al bone, stuff that wasn't European. The Indians in this area didn't bury their dead, at least not in simple graves. And this wasn't a mound.

  Something was going on, and I didn't have the faintest idea what it was. But I'd find out. Maybe tomorrow after we got new hotel rooms, gave back the nifty jeep, rented a new car, and told Bert we no longer had a client. Maybe I'd let Larry break the news to him. What are apprentices for if they can't do some of the grunt work?

  Okay, okay, I'd tell Bert myself, but I wasn't looking forward to it.

  18

  Stirling and Co. were gone when we trudged down off the mountain. We drove the Jeep back to the hotel. I was frankly surprised they hadn't taken the Jeep with them and left us to walk. Stirling didn't strike me as a man who liked having guns pointed at him. But then, who does?

  Larry's room was first down the hall. He hesitated with his room card in the lock. "You think the rooms are paid for tonight, or do we pack?"

  "We pack," I said.

  He nodded, and shoved the card in its little slot. The door handle turned, and in he went. I went to the next door and put in my own card. There was a connecting door between the rooms. We hadn't unlocked it, but it was there. Personally I liked my privacy, even from my friends. And especially from my coworkers.

  The room's silence flowed around me. It was wonderful. A few minutes of quiet before I faced Bert and told him all that money had just flown the coop.

  The room was a suite with an outer room and a separate bedroom. My apartment wasn't much bigger. There was a bar set into the left-hand wall. Being a teetotaler, that was a real plus for me. The walls were a soft pink with a delicate pattern of gilt-edged leaves, the carpet a deep burgundy. The full-sized couch was a purple so dark it looked nearly black. A love seat matched it. Two armchairs were done in a purple, burgundy, and white floral pattern. All exposed wood was very dark and highly polished. I had suspected I had some kind of honeymoon suite until I saw Larry's room. It was nearly a mirror of mine, but done in shades of green.