Galefire III : Tether War

by Kenny Soward

  The magic sweet spot was right at the water’s edge next to the fallen log. That’s where Torri knelt down. Here the water was neither too deep nor too shallow. Here she could look down into the crystal surface, silver-gray mud at the bottom, and see her reflection almost as clearly as looking into a mirror.

  She brushed her hand over the water, stirring it up to clear any negative energy. Then she took some things out of her pocket and set them down in a specific order. Leftmost was a string of Mardi Gras beads straight from New Orleans. The next was a clutch of white feathers striped with red paint and tied together with a piece of leather. The final thing was the skull of a cat.

  Torri placed her hand on the beads, closed her eyes, and focused. Then she spoke the Incantation of Farcall.

  “I hold this piece that you hold dear…

  A part of you with me sits near…

  Oh hear me, Constance, and do not fear…

  To see me with eyes so ever clear…

  It is me, Torri Dowe.”

  She opened her eyes and peered into the pool. When she didn’t see any change in the water, she tried the incantation one more time. Nothing. Either Constance was too far from her source to respond, or she was unable. While it was true her coven seldom kept in touch anymore—it had been fifty years or more since their last coven meeting—there’d never been a time she’d had to wait too long.

  Their roots were deep.

  She tried again, this time touching the bound feathers and speaking Matwau’s name. Matwau, the newest of the old witches, residing somewhere in the Sierra Nevada hills.

  But there was no answer from Matwau either.

  Torri’s stomach turned with unease. She put her hand to her head as a headache assailed her.

  The last war had nearly killed them all, and if the Turu Tukte was somehow still alive, it would be war all over again.

  Torri smiled, trying to force some confidence.

  “Come on, Torri Dowe,” she told herself. “Y’all put that bitch down for good last time. Ain’t no way she’s back. Just ain’t no way.”

  Still, the fact remained. Neither Constance nor Matwau had replied.

  There was still one more witch to try. One more who, if she didn’t respond, would be a clear indication that something was terribly amiss. It was Em, the most powerful among them aside from Torri herself.

  Torri wished they’d done more to stay in touch, to keep track of what was happening in the world, but that wasn’t the way of a witch. A witch found a place and buried her roots deep because that’s where her power lay.

  One might say it was the curse of a witch.

  Torri cleared the pool with her hand, placed her palm on the cat skull, and spoke the incantation.

  “I hold this piece that you hold dear…

  A part of you with me sits near…

  Oh hear me, Em, and do not fear…

  To see me with eyes so ever clear…

  It is me, Torri Dowe.”

  Torri waited two minutes for a response, then five.

  Her own expectant expression reflected back to her, eyes wide and a little fearful.

  Shaking her head, she pursed her lips, embarrassed for being so damn scared. She was Torri Dowe, and was no demon or devil too big for her to handle. No dark shadow she couldn’t make dance in the palm of her hand before she blew it away with a sigh. Yet, she didn’t want to think what would happen if Em didn’t respond.

  She’d be the only one left to face the world’s great evils all alone.

  Just when she was starting to give up hope, her reflection in the pond wavered, shimmied, and merged with another’s.

  Her cheeks became high and flat. Her lips grew fuller, rouged. Sable hair fell straight over each bare shoulder, skin bronzed from the sun. Brown eyes gazed back at Torri from beneath close-cropped bangs. A smile spread across the woman’s lips, but she didn’t show any teeth.

  “Well I’ll be damned if it ain’t Torri Dowe.” The woman spoke with a southern accent although there were traces of a Scottish lilt in her words.

  “Hey, Em. How are ya?

  “Shit, Torri. I’m great. How about you?”

  “I’m okay, I think. You still down in Texas?”

  “Ahh, yup. Was dozing off with a glass of tea in my hand when you rang.” And she drew out rang an extra moment or two, ending it with a smooth, sideways smile.

  Torri always felt at ease with Em. She was slow and sure about everything she did, like she had nowhere special to be or nothing special to do. Em took her time doing things.

  Em’s smile slipped. “You look worried, Torri. Last time I saw that look, things got bad quick.”

  “Well, I been working with those ECC folks some. Got me some ripper guests on account of that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Fade rippers right in your home? What’s gotten into you Torri?”

  She shrugged. “They seem fine enough. And Bess vouches for them.”

  Em nodded, brought a glass to her lips and sipped from it, then swallowed. “Well, that’s good. Hey, looks like you gained a little weight.”

  Torri shook her head. “Naw.”

  “I’m serious. Your boobs look bigger. That’s what it is,” Em said, matter-of-factly.

  Torri smiled shy, glancing away. Em had always been bold, always trying to embarrass her. “Ah, shut up. I’m trying to be serious here.”

  Em leaned forward on her elbow, her face jammed into the portal-shaped view. “And I’m talkin’ about your titties.”

  “Leave my titties out of this and straighten up.”

  “Okay, okay, Torri. Just trying to have a little fun. What can old Doideag do for ya?”

  “You heard from any of the others?”

  Em shook her head. “Can’t says I have. You?”

  “That’s just it. I called Constance and Matwau, and they didn’t answer.”

  “Hm. That’s strange.”

  “Yeah. And I’ve got two Bet-Ohmans here with me.”

  “No shit? As in, Azarah Bet-Ohman?”

  “Yep.”

  A glint of panic flashed in Em’s eyes and her expression grew concerned. “Imagine that. What’s the relation?”

  “One’s her grandson, but he’s an open book. Don’t think there’s anything to worry about with him. His sister, though. I can’t read her one lick. She’s a brick wall, completely closed off. There’s another with them. Seems like he’s in cahoots with the sister. I heard them talkin’…” Torri hesitated.

  “They got any kinda power?”

  “No, not without drugs to help them channel it from that other place. It just the readin’ of that girl, or lack of it, that I’m worried about. I think she might have a lot of what her gramma had.”

  “Well, did they say her name or talk about her?”

  “They brought up her witch name.”

  “Turu Tukte?”

  “Yep.”

  Em twisted her lips to the side. “Shit. That could be bad. Or it could be someone making shit up, Torri. Because you know people have done it before. Fade rippers thinking they’re the next incarnation of her. A dozen cults and religions have sprung up in her name, you know.”

  “Uh huh. But I thought I’d see if anyone else heard anything, so that’s why I called.”

  “Constance and Matwau weren’t there?”

  “Nope.”

  Em’s expression fell. “Double shit.”

  “Double shit is right. If those two are somehow gone, we can’t combine. You and me, we’re cut off from each other. What are we gonna do?”

  Em mulled it over for a moment, visibly making an effort to control her rising fear, clearly trying her best to remain that sure, Texas girl. “Well, first we need to check up on a few things. I’ll try Constance and Matwau myself and see if I can reach them. If not, I got some connections. I’ll take a look around. Meantime, you keep that girl under a watchful eye.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “And Torri?”

  “Yeah?”
<
br />   “Get ready, because you might need to do some traveling. We might need to combine our powers. You know how it goes.”

  “Yeah. I’ll try to be ready.”

  “Okay. Love and light.”

  Torri nodded. “Love and light.”

  Em’s image faded until it was just Torri looking back at herself again.

  She felt much better after talking to Em. Always did. That woman had always been the voice of reason amongst the coven. Always the one to make the important decisions. Well, she was older than Torri, too. Had been dancing through the Scottish moors a hundred or more years before Torri was even born. Not that a hundred years mattered so much to a fae. Still…

  Torri brushed her hand across the surface one time to clear it. Then she made a cup with her hand and dipped it in, drawing some of the cool water out to drink. Thus refreshed, Torri stood, brushed her dress off, and found an old deer path that led, in a roundabout way, back to the cabin. She needed to walk. Needed to think.

  Makare had taken a pretty big chance following Torri and watching her as she communed with the other witches at the pond’s edge. She knew there was something blocking Torri’s ability to sense things about her (maybe it was because she’d only been on Earth a few months) so she’d banked on not being detected where she’d been hiding flat on the rocks above Torri.

  Not only had she not been detected, but she’d heard every damn word between the witches.

  Her head reeled with the possibilities of her grandmother’s return. Not only could she get back at her pathetic brother, but her grandmother might help her find a way home. Earth was such a horrible, Torri couldn’t wait to be done with it. Aside from killing her brother, she had no intent to rule or otherwise waste another moment of her life here if she could help it.

  She would leave the ambition of ruling Earth to Grandmother.

  But would her grandmother recognize her? Would she be willing to help? Makare had no idea.

  Hearing how Torri could speak to her witchy friend, seeing how it was done, Makare knew she could reach Azarah. Their shared blood would be the tool that brought them together.

  She waited until she was sure Torri had gotten far enough away before sitting up. She removed the spare drug kit she’d stolen from her brother and prepared herself a dose of heroin she’d scrounged up and stolen when the gang wasn’t looking or was too high to notice. She’d been practicing with small amounts over the past month, but now she’d use every last bit. No more playing around. She pricked her vein with the needle, pressed the stopper, and was overwhelmed by the floaty feeling that followed, the feeling that the world was soft beneath her feet, that she could walk across every continent in four or five steps, queen of the world. Her senses grew aware of her own power returning, the ethereal wall between Earth and Hell softening enough for her to draw it through. The power was sluggish, slow to respond, but she made little traces of fire in the air, smiling at being able to conjure for the first time in over four months.

  At least it was there. At least it existed.

  She got up, brushed some of the loose moss off herself, and went down to the pond’s edge where the hill witch had been only minutes ago. She looked into the water, not surprised at the visage staring back at her. Her face was haggard with dark rings under her eyes, rings she’d covered with makeup dozens of time to maintain the selfie queen image the world knew. Her hair was short and tousled, and she’d lost a few pounds off her already skinny frame.

  Makare had no idea how this thing worked. She could only hope that the drugs she’d just taken would help her see what needed to be done. She waved her hand across the water like Torri had done, focusing on the energies of the pond, those same energies that had caused her to cry when she’d drank from it; the water had shown Makare the folly of her ambition, the true blackness of her soul, and that she would never change.

  No one liked to be told that, not even one with as black a heart as she, but she thought it was a fair assessment. It was time to go home and get back to what she knew. It was time to rule once more.

  She was just about to send a call through the pond’s magical waters to her grandmother, when something growled behind her. Not an animal growl, but a human trying to be an animal.

  Makare stood and turned.

  There was the little girl from the edge of the woods earlier. The one who’d been a cat. Tavia. She was still in her old farm dress, hands out and fingers bent into claws. Tavia bared her teeth through a curtain of lank brown hair. She was barefoot and dirty, but those claws looked dangerous, especially considering Makare would be nearly outweighed by the girl.

  Makare calmed her racing heart and smiled cruelly. She held up her arm to show Tavia the track marks on her skin, then she dropped the fix kit.

  Tavia stalked closer, staying low to the ground, her cat eyes glowing from behind her hair. She feinted to Makare’s left, and Makare called her power forth, making a sweeping gesture and punching out at the same time. She caught the cat-girl in ribs and sent her leaping back.

  As soon as she found her footing, Tavia lunged again with lightning speed. Makare’s reaction was too slow, Tavia far too quick, and she felt the sting of those claws across her face before she warded them off with a windmill flurry of fists. But Makare tripped backwards, off balance, and nearly fell into the pond. She quickly corrected herself and settled into a crouch, grinning at Tavia, letting the cat-girl know she’d be ready next time.

  “Come on, you little bitch.”

  Tavia charged with an ear-shattering screech, but Makare kept her head, throwing her hands together and shoving outward, a huge fist of power catching the familiar in mid-leap and sending her flying back to land in a sprawl at the edge of the trees.

  Makare stood up, high as a kite, laughing, feeling so damn good.

  Tavia got to her feet and shook herself off. She seemed to want to come at Makare again, but instead turned and scampered off into the woods.

  Makare laughed for another few seconds before it dawned on her that the cat-girl was likely going to find Torri. And if the witch showed up right now, that would be a very, very bad thing for her.

  She turned, stumbled back to the edge of the pond, and fell to her knees. She peered into the water. And then, for lack of any kind of real plan on how all this worked, she lay her hand flat on its shimmering surface and sent her will into the water, whispering, “Grandmother. Grandmother, are you there?”

  At first there was nothing, not even the sense that she’d made any sort of contact with anything. Or, what if one of Torri’s witch friends responded? The one named Em?

  “Grandmother. Turu Tukte. Azarah. Are you listening?”

  Something moved beneath the surface, causing her to jerk her hand away as if she’d touched a burning hot stove.

  She drew away from the pool as a face took shape. A flat-nosed, thin-lipped thing with short horns that curled up into dangerous points. Black, charred skin. Eyes as white and wide as the universe.

  It wasn’t her grandmother. And thankfully it was down there beneath the surface, and not…

  The face pressed up against the water’s surface, lifting the glimmering plane as if it were a sheet of plastic.

  Terrified and thinking she’d made a tremendous mistake, Makare was tempted to try to force the thing back down, but even in her high state she knew her power wasn’t ready for that.

  Run then?

  She tried to will herself to her stand, but her body would not respond. And she’d have to stand if she wanted to run. So much for that.

  The face broke through the surface, water spraying everywhere. Thin arms covered with tightly-wound muscle lifted through the torn membrane, claws placing themselves on the shore on either side of Makare.

  It pulled itself all the way out of the pond, full body revealed in all its hideous glory. Its limbs were lanky and crisping even as it moved. The demon towered over Makare, dripping and steaming. All she could do was stare up at it and wait for the end to come. Sh
e’d fucked up bad this time. She’d made a huge mistake.

  Perhaps she wasn’t meant to go home and rule Xester again after all.

  But the thing only gave her a passing glance, eyes glowing like lanterns, before its head lifted toward Torri Dowe’s home. A wide, bloodthirsty grin stretched its lips, and then it lurched on its nightmare limbs in that direction, picking up speed as it crashed into the woods.

  Makare stood there with her fingers pressed to her mouth, giggling, shivering the last of the terror out of her skin.

  Chapter 12

  Lonnie woke up to a tremor in the old porch wood. He raised his head and peered into the forest. There was nothing wrong that he could see. No stirring of trees, not even an agitated wind.

  He put his hands behind his head and lay it down again.

  After he and Elsa had finished shooting up, they’d gone back to the cabin where he’d stretched out on the front porch, figuring he’d try to keep the gang out of trouble until Bess got there. Crash and Ingrid were inside, making things comfortable in the guest part of the cabin. Elsa sat at the edge of the porch near his feet, and Jedi remained on the opposite side, as far away from them as he could possibly be without putting himself at risk of facing one of Torri’s guardians.

  Jedi was scared, and that’s exactly how Lonnie wanted him. Still, the little guy had a nervous look about him, fingers twisting some twigs between his fingers even as he threw occasional glances into the trees. And with Makare still missing (he figured Torri must have gone to look for her or trusted her guardian creatures to keep an eye on her) it was a little concerning.

  Again, the tremor along with a low rumble in his bones and head. He felt it on both a physical and metaphysical level.

  He raised up. “You hear that?”

  The whorchal stiffened where she sat, face pointed in the direction of Torri’s Rowan tree and the garden.

  “Yes, Lons. Something comes.”

  “I wonder if we should be concerned. I mean, is it one of Torri’s? You know, one of the guardians she mentioned?”

  Elsa’s head tilted, brows raised together with concern, eyes tense. “Good question.”