“Yeah, me either,” Fremont said.
I sat up. “No one’s getting sacrificed, because we’re not calling the sorcerer. We’ll think of another way.”
Coyote huffed a breath. “Like you blowing up the building? Forget that. I’ll be the sacrifice, ladies and gentlemen. You can stick the knife into my heart.”
Everyone stared at him in silence. I opened my mouth to object, but Mick beat me to it. “No, they’ll need you once the hex is broken. The logical choice is me. As long as I become dragon after I get stabbed, I can heal from it.”
His words worried me. Mick was so far into his dragon badass, I’ll-do-anything-to-nobly-save-you mode he might just let himself be killed—permanently. “Too risky,” I said. “What happens if there’s too much time between the knife thrust and the sorcerer removing the hex, or us killing him? I’m pretty sure you’d have to shift right away, and you can’t do it while we’re locked in here.”
“There’s not much choice,” Mick said.
“There is,” Coyote said. “Me.”
“Stand down,” Nash began, but Maya cut him off.
“Don’t you dare volunteer, Nash Jones. You do, and I’ll kill you myself.”
“Listen to Maya,” I said to Nash. “Magic won’t kill you, but I guarantee a foot-long blade to the heart would.”
Coyote raised his voice over ours. “There’s no more argument. I’m doing it.”
“But your powers are gone,” I said in alarm. “You might die for real.”
Coyote’s smile became genuine. “Aw, Janet. You mean you’d miss me? I’m touched. But I’m a god, sweetheart. Sacrifice, life and death—it’s all part of the job.”
“He’s right,” Cassandra said in a choked voice. “His blood would boost the spell through the hex.”
“No!” I tried.
Coyote stood up, walked to the middle of the room, and lay down flat on the floor. “Sorry, Janet. It’s got to be done, and it’s got to be done now. Mick, grab the knife and the incense. Let’s get chanting.”
***
I couldn’t stop them. Cassandra made us sit in a circle—Ansel included—with Coyote at the center. Because Cassandra didn’t trust herself on her emotional jag to work the necessary magic for the summoning, Mick conducted the ceremony.
He stripped off his shirt and knelt, his sculpted muscles gleaming with sweat. His dragon tattoos glowed with fiery light, and the bite marks where Ansel had fed were black against Mick’s neck.
Coyote was the calmest, lying flat on his back, arms at his sides, eyeing the knife blade without fear. I had no idea whether Coyote was working some ploy—he couldn’t really die, could he? He must be planning some trickster god thing behind his unruffled expression. He’d let Mick stab him and then spring to his feet as soon as the sorcerer showed up, rip the guy’s head off, and laugh at us for being afraid.
Wouldn’t he?
Sage burned in a bowl, its sweet smoke dulling my senses. I was drained from the magic I’d tried to work in the kitchen, and with Mick’s warm voice intoning the spell, plus the smoke, I wanted to drift to sleep in spite of my fears.
Mick spoke phrases in Latin, a language I’d never bothered to learn. He raised the knife, clasped in both hands, and called the ununculous by name, which, Cassandra had finally revealed, was Emmett Smith.
I’d started laughing when she said it. I’d expected something grandiose like Lucifer or Ezekiel or Damien, and she gave us Emmett Smith.
Maya sat next to me, folded in on herself, her face on her knees. She rocked back and forth a little, miserable, and I didn’t have the strength to comfort her. Nash at least had seated himself protectively beside her, his gun in his lap. Fremont sat on my other side, wedging himself against me to seek my protection, because Ansel was beyond him. Then Cassandra, then Pamela, and around again to Nash.
Mick’s face ran with sweat. His voice wound louder and louder, until finally he shouted the mage’s name and slammed the knife into Coyote’s chest.
The blade entered with a wet, meaty sound, and blood washed out to coat Mick’s hands.
“Holy shit,” Fremont whispered. Maya whimpered and turned her face to my shoulder.
Coyote’s body arched as it fought to live, but Mick held the knife hard in the wound against Coyote’s struggles. Ansel’s nostrils flared at the sharp stench of Coyote’s blood, and he lunged forward, unable to stop himself. Pamela and Nash silently grabbed him and hauled him back.
I saw Coyote’s blue aura start to fade, a darkness rising from the chalk marks in the circle to suck the aura into it. The darkness swallowed Coyote’s aura and became palpable, clinging to Mick’s hands like ink. Mick kept chanting, tears mingling with his sweat and the blood that splashed his body. Under him, Coyote’s struggles weakened. Then his eyes went blank, his breath released in one gurgling gasp, and Coyote went still.
I held my breath, certain that any minute Coyote would sit up again, laugh, and ask whether the spell had worked.
Any minute. Any minute now.
I didn’t realize I’d whispered the words out loud until Maya lifted her head and glared at me. “What is the matter with you? Mick killed him. I’m going to be sick.”
I thought I would be, too. Coyote didn’t move. He was a human body, dead on my Saltillo tile, eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. My boyfriend had just killed him.
“So where is this big, bad sorcerer?” Fremont demanded in a shaky voice. “Shouldn’t there be a flash and a bang or something? And smoke? Where is he?”
Nowhere. The room was empty. Mick peeled his hands from the knife as though he had to force himself to, the look on his face one of anguish and self-loathing. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but I couldn’t move.
“Nice,” a voice said above us.
Cassandra scrambled to her feet. I shot up as well, adrenaline propelling me out of my stupor.
A man stood above us on the second-floor gallery. He wore a business suit, his tie dangling as he leaned on the rail to look at us. His balding head gleamed in the faint light from the windows, as did his wire-rimmed glasses.
“What was he?” he went on in a dry, emotionless voice. “A god minus his powers? Powerless gods are always so pathetic.”
Cassandra stood as one stricken, and Emmett Smith looked her over with interest. Ansel had quieted, although Nash still stood between him and Coyote’s bloody body. Even the magic mirror had gone silent.
“You touch Cassandra, and you die,” Pamela said thickly.
“She’s calling herself Cassandra now, is she?” the sorcerer asked. “Fitting choice.” He started down the stairs, his glasses glinting as he studied us. “With a Changer woman stuck in the between stage. Interesting. What else do we have? A dragon barely containing his power, a minor mage with an inferiority complex, and a Nightwalker in a blood frenzy.” He drew to a halt in front of Maya. “But this one is human. Poor thing. This must be hard on you. I’m surprised they didn’t use you as the sacrifice.”
“Screw that,” Maya said, her head up. “This is a new dress.”
Emmett chuckled. “Now I understand.” He stopped laughing and peered at Nash, who had moved himself protectively in front of Maya.
“But I don’t know what you are,” Emmett said. “I’d have guessed just human, but . . .” He shook his head and turned away, as though determined to solve the mystery when he had more time. “And you.” Emmett pointed at me almost joyfully. “You, young woman, are something extraordinary.”
“Stormwalker,” I said. “This is my hotel. But you knew that.”
“No, I had no idea. And Stormwalker is not all you are. Your aura is amazing.” He sniffed. “You’ve got goddess in you. Goddess and something else . . . I can’t quite . . . Oh, damn, hang on.”
Emmett pulled a handkerchief from
his breast pocket and dabbed his nose. He looked at the handkerchief in surprise. “Nosebleed. I never get those unless . . .”
He looked at us—no, at me—and his aura suddenly flared blacker than that of the most evil Nightwalker I’d ever encountered. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.
Mick answered him. “This is us, breaking a curse.”
“Curse? Cassandra, explain. Did one of your hexes go wrong?”
“One of my hexes?” Cassandra said. “We’re breaking your hex. These people haven’t done anything to you. If Christianson wants me, fine. Janet and her friends have done nothing but take me in when I needed somewhere to go.” Her voice broke.
Emmett pressed his handkerchief to his nose. “Christianson? What makes you think I’d waste a good hex for someone like Christianson? The man is a selfish, grasping, weak little bastard.”
“How about for the millions he pays you?” I suggested.
“Yes, I take his money. That doesn’t mean I live at his beck and call. I was surprised when you started working for him, Cassandra. You’re too good a witch for that walking cesspit.”
“I didn’t know what he was like,” Cassandra said. “When I found out, I left.”
“Good for you.” Emmett glanced around the lobby. “I can’t say much for where you ended up, but I admire your moxie.” His gaze came back to me. “But then there’s her. You might be smarter than I think.”
I raised my hands for attention. “I hate to break up this little reunion, but what are you saying? That Christianson didn’t hire you to kill Cassandra?”
“I wouldn’t have taken the job if he had. Cassandra’s a damn good witch, and I don’t waste power like that. I might need her someday.”
“I don’t understand.” Cassandra looked at Coyote, lying dead at our feet. He wasn’t coming back to life, not a move, not a peep. “This was for nothing?”
“Nice gesture, the sacrifice, but unnecessary. Next time you want to summon me, just text me.”
I looked up into Emmett’s face. He wasn’t even as tall as Fremont, who was a few inches shy of six feet, but Emmett’s lean body made him look taller than he really was. The sorcerer’s suit was finely tailored, and he wore a silk shirt and tie. His glasses weren’t off-the-rack from a discount optical shop; they were designer, with tiny diamonds winking in the corners. I didn’t waste time wondering why such a powerful mage would need glasses. Likely he wore them for effect.
Emmett looked like an ordinary but successful businessman from a big city, the kind you’d find all over Los Angeles or New York. That is, until I looked behind the glasses and into his eyes.
I saw there a cold, hard ruthlessness, with all the warmth of frozen metal. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell the color of his irises, but it didn’t matter. There was power in those eyes, uncaring power that would take and take and have no remorse about who it had to destroy to keep on taking. Power and no conscience, the most dangerous combination in the world.
“You didn’t cast the hex?” I asked him.
“No. Nice one, though.”
“Can you tell us who did?”
Emmett dabbed his nose as he tried to stare me down. Lucky for me, I’d grown up staring down my grandmother, a small Diné woman who would have had this man crumpling at her feet.
He shrugged and turned away, implying he’d let me go, though I knew better. He strolled to a wall and put his hand on it.
“Ah, a double hex. Very clever. And it used your own wards to ride in and infect the place. This took power. Precision. Planning. I can see why you thought I’d done this.” He sniffed the wall, then brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted them. “There’s demon in this. Succubus, I’d say. But more than that. A demon-goddess, who enjoys playing succubus for her own reasons . . .” His voice died, and his dark aura suddenly constricted. “Oh, no. Oh, you didn’t.”
“What?” I demanded, marching to him. “Oh, we didn’t, what?”
Emmett looked at his handkerchief again, his voice rising. “Damn it to hell. You brought me here. You summoned me to lock me in her trap.” He raised his hand, darkness surrounding it. “You stupid bitch, you brought me here!”
He let the darkness fly, not at me but at Cassandra. Pamela jerked Cassandra out of the way, but the arrow of darkness followed her like a heat-seeking missile. But Nash was there. He shoved himself in front of Cassandra, and the spear of darkness—so black it shone with its own light—shoved itself right into Nash’s chest.
Nash flinched the slightest bit, his mouth firming as the magic met the void inside him. Emmett watched, openmouthed, as his magic was sucked into nothingness. Without so much as a flicker, the magic vanished, gone as though it had never existed.
Nash straightened up, eyeing Emmett coldly, none the worse for wear.
“How the hell did you do that?” Emmett asked, dazed.
Nash didn’t answer, because of course, he had no idea.
Emmett slowly turned his ruthless gaze on me. “What is this, Stormwalker? What did I ever do to you that you’ve brought me to my death?”
“She didn’t do anything.” Cassandra’s hysterical tears returned. “I’m the victim here.”
“Janet.” Mick was at my side. I didn’t look at his hands, still covered in Coyote’s blood. “Something is terribly wrong.”
“No kidding.”
Mick’s voice was hot as he whispered into my ear. “If he didn’t cast this hex, if a demon-goddess did it, then how the hell did she? We’re back to whoever brought in the seed.” His eyes were black, fire dancing in them.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I haven’t been anywhere near the vortexes lately, and if my mother had touched me in any way, I’d know. She’s sealed in. I promise you.”
“Then if it wasn’t you, who?”
We exchanged a long glance, and then both of us turned to look at the man hovering at my shoulder. Not Emmett Smith.
“Fremont,” I said carefully. “About this ‘angel’ you conjured . . .”
Fremont’s brown eyes widened. “You believe me?”
“Yes. I do. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?”
Ten
“She was beautiful.” Fremont rubbed his forehead, his eyes taking on a faraway glow. “I found this spell in a book I bought at Paradox. That’s our local New Age store,” he said for Emmett’s benefit. “I just wanted someone to talk to. It didn’t seem dangerous or like dark magic. It’s not at all what we did here with . . .” He broke off, looking at Coyote’s body covered with congealing blood.
“And she had sex with you,” Emmett said. “Didn’t she?”
Fremont looked embarrassed. “She was an angel. I was going to say no?”
“She wasn’t an angel, you stupid little fool,” Emmett snapped. “She’s one of the most powerful demon-goddesses of the earth. She heard your little conjuring spell, took her succubus self to you, and seeded you with the hex. You trotted in here and leaked the curse into the wards. She must have guessed that Cassandra would believe the hex was all about her, because Cassandra always did think herself the most important witch in the room. In the end, Cassandra, or one of you, would summon me, and now the demon-goddess has me trapped. I hope you’re happy.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “And why should we think this is all about you?”
“Because it is. The demon-goddess has been after me for decades, has used every wile she’s had to trap me. All because I killed her son. I needed his magic, and his blood, and he was a fucking crazy demon, for the gods’ sakes. Why shouldn’t I kill him?”
“I can’t imagine why that would upset her,” I said.
“And now she traps me with such a simple ploy. The spell of an incompetent wannabe mage that I’d never notice in a million years. Damn it!” Emmett jammed his handkerchief t
o his nose again.
I walked to him, stood under his stupid bloody nose. “First,” I said, “lay off Fremont. He’s my friend, and I get annoyed when people yell at my friends. Second, a man died to bring you here, so you need to make yourself useful, to not let his death be in vain. Who is this demon-goddess slash succubus, how do we break the hex, and what is it with your nosebleed?”
“I used to get nosebleeds when I first started using big magic,” Emmett said, irritated. “I couldn’t handle the pressures. Looks like the hex has taken me back to that happy time. Weakening my magic—I should sue you.”
I could see that going over well in court. “Just tell us how to break the hex, oh powerful mage.”
“Fuck if I know. Hexes like this are unique to the caster. You’ll have to ask her yourself. Once I’m far, far away, if you don’t mind.”
“We’re locked in, shit-brain,” Maya said hotly. “We can’t get out, and I’m willing to bet you can’t walk out either.”
Emmett glared at her, his eyes almost glowing with his rage. “How dare you—”
“What’s her name?” I interrupted him.
Emmett’s handkerchief was firmly against his nose now, but he took his awful gaze from Maya and focused it on me. “No, you don’t. You’re not strong enough to face her, and neither am I. Not yet.”
I wondered what he meant by “not yet,” but I didn’t really want to know. I didn’t plan to wait long enough to find out what he had in mind for getting out of this, and I had the feeling it wouldn’t involve saving any of us.
“Fremont,” I said. “Show me how you conjured the angel.”
“That won’t work,” Emmett said.
“It might,” Cassandra broke in. “She’ll come for Emmett sooner or later, but if she likes Fremont, she might come to his call.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Emmett said frantically. “You can’t fight her while you’re under her hex.”
“I don’t plan to fight her,” I said in a hard voice. “None of us will. We’ll give her what she wants—you—and then she’ll lift the hex. End of problem.”
Double Hexed Page 8
