White Witch, Black Curse

by Kim Harrison

  “Holy crap!” I exclaimed, gagging and falling back as well. I almost tripped Edden as he reared back at the stench. The light from the lantern showed Edden’s expression, twisted in distaste. Whatever was in there was long dead, and anger started trickling in. Kisten had succeeded in killing our attacker. Now who would I yell at?

  “Hold this,” the FIB captain said as he shoved the flashlight at me. I set my lantern down and took it. Edden pulled the door farther open to show a black archway and little else. The stench rolled out, old and putrid. It wasn’t the smell of decay, which would have been muted from the cold and perhaps sheer time, but the stink of vampire death that lingered until the sun or wind had a chance to disperse it. It was incense gone bad. Decaying flowers. Spoiled musk and dead sea salt. We couldn’t go in, it was that bad. It was as if all the oxygen had been replaced with thick, poisonous, decaying oil.

  Edden took his flashlight back. Holding a hand across his nose, he played the light over the floor to find the edges of the room. I stayed where I was, but Ivy came forward to stand at the threshold. Her face was damp from tears, and her expression was blank. Edden moved to get his shoulder in front of hers, but it was the smell that was keeping her out, not his presence.

  The floor was the same dust-colored stone, and the walls were cement. A black scum stained the floor, crinkled and cracked, the color of old blood. Edden followed it to the wall to find scratches gouged in the concrete.

  “Neither of you go in there,” Edden said, then gagged from the deep breath he had taken to say the words. I nodded, and he quickly played the light over the rest of the room. It was a nasty hole of a place with a made-up cot and a cardboard box table. On the bare floor beside another smaller puddle of dried blood was the body of a big black man, faceup and spread-eagled. He had on a lightweight shirt, open to show that his throat had been completely torn out. His lower body cavity had been opened as well, almost as if an animal had been at him, though I expected the small mounds of something piled beside him were probably his insides.

  I couldn’t tell if he had been attacked while not wearing any pants or if his attacker had eaten through them. Vampires didn’t do this. At least not that I’d heard. And this wasn’t the man who I’d remembered at Kisten’s boat.

  Edden’s light shook as I held it on the body. Damn it, it had all been for nothing.

  “Is that Art?” Edden asked, and I shook my head.

  “It’s Denon,” Ivy said, and my gaze jerked from the corpse to her and back again.

  “Denon?” I gasped, feeling my gore rise.

  Edden’s light dropped away. “God help him. I think it is.”

  I leaned against the wall as my knees went wobbly. That’s why I hadn’t seen him lately. If Denon had been Art’s scion, assigning Ivy to his stable of runners would make it really easy to watch her. And insulting to assign her to me.

  “The cot,” Ivy said, her hand over her face. “Bring your light to the cot. I think it’s a body on there. I’m not…sure.”

  I came close and carefully angled the lantern’s light to the cot, but my hand was shaking and it wasn’t clear. Edden had known Denon. Had a friendly rivalry with him. Finding him torn apart was hard. I heard him take a shallow breath, and his light found the bed as well.

  I squinted, trying to figure out what I was seeing. What had first looked like a bundle of forgotten clothes and straps…“Shit,” I whispered as my mind shifted and it made sense. It was a gray, grotesquely twisted body, the bones warped into unnatural curves as the two viruses had fought for control, each trying to make the vampire into its version of perfection. Pale white parchment skin had flaked off in sheets, drifting slightly in the draft that opening the door had created. The black hair was puddled around the skull, and there were no eyes in the sockets gazing at the ceiling. Canines twice as long as a normal vampire’s spouted from the jaw. The mouth had been ripped wide and the jaw was hanging at a broken angle. A hand with several fingers missing hung from the corner of it. God, had he done it to himself?

  Ivy jerked, and I swung the light wildly as she tried to go in. Edden grunted, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to fling her to the opposite wall of the tunnel. She hit with a thump, her eyes wide and angry, but he had his arm under her chin and wasn’t letting up.

  “Stay out of that room!” he shouted, pinning her to the wall, his voice echoing in what sounded like pity. “You are not going in there, Ivy! I don’t care if you kill me. You are not going in that…filthy”—he took a gasping breath, trying to find words—“cesspit of a hole.” He finished, tears shining in his eyes. “You’re better than that,” he finished. “You have nothing to do with that perversion. It’s not you.”

  Ivy wasn’t trying to move. If she’d wanted to, she could have broken his arm without a thought. Tears shimmered in the light as I angled the flashlight down. “Kisten died because of something I did,” she said, anger shifting to pain. “And now I can’t do anything to make the hurt go away. He’s dead! Art even took that from me!”

  “What are you going to do!” Edden shouted at her, his voice echoing. “The vampire is dead! You can’t get revenge from a dead body. You want to tear him apart and throw chunks of him at the wall? He’s dead! Let it go or it will ruin your life, and then he wins again.”

  Ivy was crying silently. Edden was right, but I didn’t know how to convince her of it.

  Edden snatched the lantern from me and turned. “Look at that, Ivy!” he said, shining it directly on the corpse. “Look at that and tell me that is a victory.”

  She tensed as if to scream, but then the tears flowed and she gave up. Arms wrapped around herself, she whispered, “The son of a bitch. The fucking son of a bitch. Both of them.”

  The deep chill took the core of my being as I stared at the twisted pieces of what remained. The dusty scent of Art’s fingers on me was heavy in my memory as I looked at his broken hand and the flesh pulled tight to the bone. I could feel his touch on my throat, my wrist. It had been a hard death, leaving him mummified, a gross caricature of twisted limbs and contorted bones as the two strains of vampire virus fought for control, breaking him until he couldn’t survive even as an undead.

  It was easy to imagine what had happened. Dying from the undead blood Kisten had given him, Art called his scion. Denon died by accident or design as Art tried to gain enough strength to fight off Kisten’s undead blood. No wonder Ivy wanted a way out. This was ugly.

  Edden let the light fall from the cot. His eyes were tired as he flicked it off and only Mia’s lantern lit the tunnel. He looked at Ivy’s raw misery, then hiked his belt up to try to find a semblance of his usual demeanor. “We’ll let the room air out, then get a shoe for a print match. We’re done here.”

  Ivy was against the wall, staring at the black doorway. “He never would have touched Kisten if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Kisten said it wasn’t your fault. He said it, Ivy. Told me to tell you.” Setting the lantern down, I crossed the tunnel, my shadow blanketing her. “He said so,” I repeated as I touched her shoulder, finding her ice cold. Her eyes were black, but they weren’t looking at me, they were focused on the dark hole across from us. “Ivy, if you take this on your conscience, it will be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen you do.”

  That got through to her, and her gaze flicked to me.

  “He didn’t blame you,” I said as I gave her bicep a squeeze. “If he did, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his life to kill the bastard for you and me both. He loved me, Ivy, but it was thinking of you that made his decision. He did it because he loved you.”

  Ivy’s expression cracked, and her face twisted in pain. “I loved him!” she shouted, voice echoing. “I loved him, and there’s nothing I can do to prove it! Art is dead!” she said, gesturing. “Piscary is dead! I can’t do anything to prove I loved Kisten. This isn’t fair, Rachel! I want to hurt someone, and no one is left!”

  Edden shifted uneasily. My throat was
tight. I wanted to hug her and tell her that it was going to be okay, but it wasn’t. There was no one to take revenge on, no one to point to and say, I know what you did and you are shit for it. That Piscary was dead and Art was a twisted corpse didn’t come close to being enough.

  “Ladies…,” Edden prompted, gesturing down the tunnel with his light. “I’ll get a forensics team down here tonight. Once we are sure of the identities, I’ll let you know.” He took a step to leave, hesitating to make sure we would follow.

  Clearly exhausted, Ivy pushed herself from the wall. “Piscary gave Kisten to Art as compensation for me putting him in jail. It was political. God, I hate my life.”

  I stared at the black hole in the wall, tension rising in me. She was right. Kisten had died in a political power play. His bright soul just starting to learn its own strength had been snuffed out to soothe an ego and bring Ivy to her knees. Revenge I might have understood, but this…

  Whispering good-bye to Kisten, Ivy dropped her head and passed me. I didn’t move, staring at the black hole. Edden’s hand fell on my shoulder. “You need to get warmed up.”

  I jerked out from under him. Warmed up. Good idea. I wasn’t ready to walk away. Kisten’s soul was at rest because he had fought back and won. But what about those of us who were left behind? What about Ivy and me? Didn’t we have the right to satisfaction, too?

  My heart pounded, and I clenched my jaw. “I am not going to live with this pain.”

  Ivy’s boots scuffed to a stop, and Edden squinted suspiciously at me.

  Shaking, I pointed at the dark hole. “I’m not going to let the I.S. cover this up, put them in the ground with pretty headstones and dignified names and dates and say that Kisten was murdered to further someone’s political agenda.”

  Ivy shook her head. “It makes no difference.”

  It made a difference to me. The room was cloaked in black, hiding the depravity of what happened when a lifetime was spent afraid of death, when one’s entire existence was bent to the selfish desires of the self, when the soul was exchanged for the mindless drive to survive. Real lives were ruined in the wake of these ugly caricatures of power. Kisten’s soul lost just as he found the strength in himself, Ivy winding the noose tighter in her attempts to find peace. Darkness wouldn’t cover this up. I wanted the room bright. Bright with a savage truth so that it would never be consigned to the shelter of the earth.

  “Rachel?” Ivy asked, and shaking, I tapped a line. It touched me, tearing my thin aura like a flame. I went down on a knee, but gritting my teeth, I stood, letting the pain flow through me, accepting it.

  “Celero inanio,” I shouted, giving the force an outlet of a black charm gesture. I’d seen Al do it. How hard could it be?

  The line roared into me, pulled by the charm. Agony flamed, and I convulsed, refusing to let go of the line as the spell worked. “Rachel!” Ivy shouted, and I fell back at the white-light explosion in the middle of the room. My hair blew back, then shifted forward as the air in the room burnt itself out and new rushed in to replace it. Like heaven itself, the glory of fire burned white, a tiny spot of black at the center of my rage.

  I fell to my knees, eyes fixed on the doorway and the hard stone going unnoticed as my knees bruised. And then Ivy had me. Her arms cushioned me, and I gasped, not at their icy softness, but at the sudden cessation of pain from the line. She had me again, and her aura protected me, filtering the worst of it.

  “You stupid witch,” she said bitterly as she held me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I stared up at her, the line cool and clean in me. “Are you sure you can’t feel anything?” I questioned, not believing her aura was protecting me from this.

  “Just my heart breaking. Let it go, Rachel.”

  “Not yet,” I said, and with her arms around me, I pointed at the hellhole. “Celero inanio!” I said again.

  “Stop!” Ivy shouted, and I screamed as her hands left me and the pain bent me double. I gasped, feeling my lungs burn. But I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t done yet.

  The cot burst into flame, a glowing haze of orange hovering over it, looking like a body contorting in torment. The blood on the floor was a puff of black that whirled up as more air was sucked in to replace that which was burnt. Ivy’s hands found me from behind, and I took a clean breath as the pain was muted and I could bear it again.

  “Please don’t let go,” I said, tears of pain and heartache trickling down, and I felt her nod.

  “Celero inanio!” I cried again, my tears evaporating as they fell to make glittering sparkles of salt, and still the rage burned in me, pulsing in time with my heart. The ley line streamed in like vengeance, burning, trying to take me with it like a mindless flood. I could smell my hair starting to burn. The scrape on my cheek felt like fire.

  “Rachel, stop!” Ivy screamed, but I could see the sparkle of Kisten’s eyes in the flames, smiling at me—and I couldn’t.

  A shadow darted between me and the roaring inferno. The heat beat at me as it blinked past. I could hear Edden swearing, and then the stone door shifting. A sliver of cool shade touched my knee, crept up my leg, and kissed the edge of my cheek. I leaned into it as the band of white vengeance narrowed. My balance left me and I collapsed. But I held on to the line. It was the only clean thing I had.

  Ivy gave me a little shake to bring my attention to her. Her eyes were black with fear, and I loved her. “Let go of the line,” she pleaded, her tears burning as they hit me. “Rachel, let go of the line! Please!”

  I blinked. Let go of the line?

  The tunnel was plunged into darkness as Edden finally got the door shut. A wave of cold air burned my skin. My eyes slowly recognized the outline of her face as she held me. Edden’s silhouette grew more defined as a red glow became brighter, showing where the wall was thinnest, at the door. My fire still raged behind it, and the glow of the heat lit the tunnel with a soft haze.

  Edden’s shape stared at the door, his hands on his hips. “Sweet mother of Jesus,” he breathed, then drew his hand back when he went to touch the lines the spell had etched in the door. I could see the bright ring of the charmed circle of iron embedded in the door. Radiating out from it were black threads making a spiral pentagram with arcane symbols. In the middle was my handprint, and it was molding to the spell, making it wholly mine. No one would open the door again.

  “He’s gone! Let it go!” Ivy shouted, and this time, I did.

  I gasped as the power shut off, jerking as the cold swarmed in to replace the heat. I clenched in on myself, whispering, “I take it. I take it. I take it,” before the imbalance could strike me. Tears leaked out through my clenched eyes as I felt the ugly black slither over me like a cool silk sheet. It had been a black curse, but I had used it without thought. Even so, the tears weren’t for me: they were for Kisten.

  Silence apart from my rasping breaths. My chest hurt. It felt like it was burning. Nothing flowed in me. I was a burnt-out shell. Everything was silent, as if the sounds themselves had been turned to ash.

  “Can you stand?”

  It was Ivy, and I blinked at her, unable to answer. Edden leaned over us, and I cried out in pain when his arms slipped between Ivy and me, raising me up as if I were a child.

  “Oh shit, Rachel,” he said when I fought back a wave of nausea. “You look like you’ve got a bad sunburn.”

  “It was worth it,” I whispered. My lips were cracked, and my eyebrows felt singed when I touched them. The wall was still glowing as Edden shifted into motion. A spiderweb of black was etching through the door, turning the rock silver as it cooled. It was the curse that I had spoken, slowly lightening like stretch marks as the stone cooled. The door was fused shut, and my mark would warn anyone away from tampering with it. Not that I thought there was anything behind the door now.

  I caught my breath in pain when Edden almost tripped and my tender skin was rubbed. Ivy touched my arm as if needing to reassure herself that I was okay. “Was that a ley line?” she aske
d hesitantly. “You did that with power right off a line, right?”

  My chest hurt, and I hoped I hadn’t damaged my lungs. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Thank you for cushioning it.”

  “You have that kind of power all the time?” she said, almost a whisper.

  I went to nod, then thought better of it when my skin pulled. “Yes.”

  The memory of the black magic symbol etched on the door rose through my thoughts. So it was a black charm. So what? I might be a black witch, but at least I was an honest one.

  Edden slowly carried me back to the surface, silent but for his breathing. Everyone who knew Kisten had been murdered to satisfy a political agenda was either dead or in this hallway. My love would be remembered for dying to save Ivy’s and my life. That was why he had died, not because of someone’s whim. That was who Kisten was. Had been.

  And no one would ever say different.

  Thirty-four

  Though my mom was hundreds of miles away by now, my room still smelled like her light lavender perfume, wafting up from the dusty boxes stacked where Robbie had left them beside my bed. It had been nice of him to bring them all in while Mom showed me the brochure of the apartment she had waiting for her in Portland.

  Kneeling beside my bed, I pulled the top box to me, reading my adolescent scrawl before I shoved the box aside to take to the brat pack at the hospital later. The moving van had shown up at my mom’s house yesterday, and I was tired of packing peanuts and bubble wrap, depressed by all the good-byes. Mom and Robbie had brought the last of my things over early this afternoon, waking me up and taking me out for a bon voyage breakfast at an old-lady eatery, since by Robbie’s guess her kitchen was already in Kansas. I think we got bad service because of my shunning, but it was hard to tell unless your waitress wrote BLACK WITCH on the back of your napkin. It didn’t matter. We weren’t in any hurry. The coffee sucked dishwater, though.