Oh, Remy thought. Somehow, I missed it earlier. Well, maybe I can use her as a human shield against Taylor’s and Bobby’s strange assertion that I’m on the verge of asking Kendra out myself.
Their footsteps clattered as they walked the length of the Rose Main Reading Room. As he recalled, their destination was this very chamber, but at a point near a basement room that housed a collection of old, boring records that no one really cared about. Moswen might well be safe and sound for a millennium there.
“Now…” Taylor resumed her speech. “Alice will supervise the casting of the spell as well as perform it. Remington and Bobby, you two will be her assistants and protectors. Do whatever she tells you to without exception. And if any hostiles get past the rest of us, eliminate them immediately.”
Remy nodded and Bobby gulped. She’d never been in combat before, he realized. He wasn’t exactly an expert himself, but the simple fact that he’d survived quite a few battles by now had left him a changed man.
He wondered, though, if it was right to make her participate in all this. She was their receptionist, not a field agent, and did not have experience with violence. But she might well have volunteered while he wasn’t paying attention—after all, being involved in spooky shit had seemingly been a lifelong dream of hers.
“Alex, if you’re sober enough to understand,” the vampire continued, “we’ll need a little of your blood as a backup for the ritual. Otherwise, your main role will simply be to draw Moswen to our position. Don’t hold back from her. We want her to know that I’m here, that you’re scared, and exactly where we are.”
“Uh…” The intern moaned miserably. “Why do we want to see her again? I hoped I’d never have to. Do you people even realize what an awful c—sorry, uh…bad person. Vampire. Whatever.”
“Yes,” Taylor agreed, “she is. Conrad, Riley, you two will handle Moswen’s thralls, aside from the ones I can spare a moment to deal with. We don’t know how many of them she’ll have—anywhere from four to fifty. If we’re lucky, Kendra’s team will sight them as they enter and give us a quick warning. Riley, use magic to slow and disorient them. Conrad, and possibly Remington, can deal with them after that.”
“Okay,” said the fairy.
The werewolf grimaced. “That should be doable, madam, but even I can only do so much against fifty if she does have that many.”
“Understood,” she replied. “Remember, you only need to keep them busy long enough for the spell to work. Finally, I will keep Moswen herself busy. She won’t turn down the opportunity to kill me personally, I suspect. And no offense, but none of you would be capable of going toe to toe with her.”
No one was offended. They all had varying degrees of understanding of who and what they were up against.
Alice had Bobby and Riley help her set up a small folding table to serve as an altar in the rear corner of the hall near the taped-off staircase leading down to the basement addition. The witch also gathered the four vital components, along with a few other minor ones she’d already collected and a black-bound book.
Watching them, Remy was glad that Alice and Bobby seemed to have gotten along well since the witch had arrived. Riley had worked with her on a couple of spells already. They couldn’t ask for a better team, really.
Meanwhile, he, Conrad, and Taylor selected a long table nearby on which to lay their duffel bags and remove and assemble their arsenal.
He was impressed by some of the hardware they withdrew and he also noted—with slight jealousy—the easy way the vampire and the werewolf worked together to put shotguns together, load pistols, draw crossbows, charge tasers, and sharpen knives. Again, he was morbidly curious as to exactly how much history there was between the two.
Then again, Taylor allowed them to help her.
“So,” he quipped, “it looks like we’re all in this together. Everyone leaning on everyone else.”
Alex leaned against the wall at the moment, but that was beside the point.
The vampire looked at him. “Yes, David. We all need help sometimes. And I think we will all have ample opportunities to pay back any favors incurred, besides.”
He nodded, not about to argue, and took to loading one of the revolvers.
Alice approached. “We’re set up for the spell. The dagger spell—the binding one, I mean. That will be the longer, more complicated one, so I almost wonder if we should start it first and then perform the beacon spell on Alex.”
“Mm, no,” said Taylor. “Once the dagger is activated and the binding spell is engaged, Moswen might sense its power and realize the trap. We want her to come here as soon as possible. Ideally, the dagger should activate at the moment we see her so she doesn’t have time to change her mind about fighting me again.”
“As you say, madam,” Alice conceded, and Remy detected a trace of the woman’s earlier resentment of the vampire’s authority. “Since we have no idea where she is, though, well… What if she’s only two streets over? We might not have enough time.”
“We’ll risk it,” the other woman stated firmly. “We can handle Moswen and her minions while you complete the ceremony. Now, draw some of Alex’s blood—remember that we’ll try to get some from one of her thralls, preferably, since his blood may not work—as backup, and ignite the proverbial beacon.”
Alex protested as the witch came over to him and despite her soothing words, his eyes bulged in horror for a moment as she slit his thumb with a small scalpel-like knife and squeezed about a teaspoon or so of blood into a tiny saucer.
“There you go,” she told him, “that’s enough. All done now. Here, let me wrap that.” She tied a strip of gauze around his thumb as he muttered incoherent sentence fragments. Remy worried that the man might pass out but the spell ought to snap him back to attention.
Once his blood was safely next to the altar, Alice and Riley converged on him.
“Alex,” the fairy began, “we’re sorry, but we need you to think about Moswen. About the mark she left on you”
“Uggghhh.” He groaned and his head jerked. “Fuck that. Why do you think I’m drunk? Because I don’t want to remember. Having her poking around inside my mind. Setting my heart on fire. Jesus. You’d be a mess, too, if…”
He trailed off and again, Remy felt a twinge of pity for the man. He was probably dealing with some degree of PTSD after all that. Then again, no one had forced him to choose tonight of all nights to get hammered.
As the Australian unwittingly recalled his bondage, Riley seemed to find the residual link to his former mistress and faint light, mingled silver and gold, shone from his chest.
“There,” Alice whispered, excited. “You’ve got it. Now…” The witch closed her eyes and twisted her hands into odd configurations and the light grew stronger. A deep mossy green added itself to the two hues already present.
Alex began to tremble violently as the golden light threatened to overwhelm the silver and green. “No,” he groaned. “Dear God, no. She’s coming. She sees us!”
Taylor stepped forward. “Where is she, Alex? And how many are with her?”
“Near.” He gasped and his eyes snapped wide open, although he seemed to stare beyond them. “Fuck. She was already on the prowl for you—near! Very close. She’ll be here, uh…five minutes? Ten?”
Shit, Remy thought. I hope the dagger thing is a short procedure. Suddenly, he almost felt ready to piss himself and he was glad he hadn’t shared the coffee with Alex.
Taylor put a hand on the Australian’s arm as Alice and Riley continued to manage the spell with their minds.
“Alex,” the vampire repeated, “how many thralls are with her?”
“I don’t know,” he sputtered. “Too many. Uh—shit, a dozen. Twenty? Around that. Oh, God. She’s coming! And she’ll kill all of us.”
Taylor turned to Alice, who looked drawn and pale. “Begin the ritual,” she ordered. “Now.”
New York Public Library Main Branch, Midtown Manhattan, New York
Colon
el James Russel permitted himself to smile for a few seconds. It was dark and none of his men with night vision goggles were looking at him right now, so no one saw. That was probably for the best.
He was back in action. And, now that he had begun to recall more and more of what the Egyptian crime-queen had made him do, he looked forward to getting some payback.
“Colonel,” one of his men whispered and move closer. “The FBI already has a perimeter of their own set up. Do we hang back or approach them?”
Russel locked gazes with the man. “You hang back, for now, Sergeant. I, on the other hand…I think I’ll take a walk and maybe see if they have a light.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Buford responded, his tone almost unnaturally soft.
The colonel, his hands folded behind his back, strolled forward and across the street. Remington and Taylor and their cohorts had blocked the road off in addition to clearing any loitering civilians, which would make the whole operation far easier when—if—push came to shove.
There was no getting around it, though. It felt good to be back in action and to have men around him with rifles and submachine guns in their hands and consider the prospect of actually needing to use his own sidearm.
He walked out into the middle of the street and made no effort to stay out of the cone of yellowish light generated by a nearby streetlamp.
Predictably, two feds materialized to welcome him.
“Excuse me,” one said loudly and raised a badge, “this area is off-limits. FBI investigation.”
“Hi,” he responded. “Colonel James Russel, US Army National Guard. I’m here to assist. Is Agent Gilmore on duty?”
The two agents, a black guy and a white guy, had clearly not expected to hear this and even in the dark, he could see their startled expression and the tension rippling through them in their partial confusion. The black man stood closer to him, his hand resting on his pistol. The other man, who’d greeted him, took a step back.
“Uh, Gilmore?” he said into a mouthpiece and kept his gaze on Russel and his hand near his gun. “There’s a gentleman here who claims to be a Colonel Russel and says he’s here to assist us. Do you know anything about that?”
He listened for a moment and then spoke to his guest.
“Colonel Russel,” he began, “we’ll have to ask you to wait here for a couple of minutes. Did you come alone?”
“Of course not, agent.” He grunted scornfully. “I have a squad hanging back on the other side of the street. Maybe you’ve already seen them. Once your boss arrives, we’ll get this cleared up, though.”
The two men looked skeptical but did not question him further. It only took about another minute for Kendra Gilmore to arrive.
Russel watched her approach. She was a fit, attractive woman, perhaps twenty years his junior and probably of mixed black and white parentage. The vibe she gave off was one of toughness, seriousness, and professionalism.
“Colonel Russel.” She extended a hand.
He took it. “Agent Gilmore. We spoke briefly over the phone. And let’s say a little bird told me a few other things about what’s been going on. We’re here to lend a hand in neutralizing the enemy.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “My civilian allies are already committed to that very goal, Colonel. It’s a sensitive business. They may not appreciate interference.”
“Well,” he retorted, “the more sensitive the business, usually, the more it helps to have big guns waiting in the wings. And we brought some of the biggest ones we could find.” He motioned behind him and signaled his team to approach.
She looked uncomfortable, even though she seemed to be considering his proposal. “I can radio them and ask. This whole operation is, however, my responsibility, and the last thing I need is a few trigger-happy Guardsmen blowing up the goddamn New York Public Library.”
He uttered a dry chuckle. “We know what we’re doing. The building will be safe, possibly barring a couple of holes. I assume it’s been cleared of bystanders already.”
His squad emerged from the darkness behind him. In addition to Sgt Buford and two other men with assault rifles, there were another two with top-of-the-line SMGs, two more with automatic shotguns—one loaded with slugs and the other with buckshot—and one with a high-powered sniper rifle for good measure.
Kendra nodded. “That’s a good amount of firepower. May I ask what convinced you to bring it all? And to show up in the first place?”
Russel smiled grimly. “To be honest, I think your friends in there are a few yards short of a football field. Have you heard what they talk about when you’re not around? I have, as a matter of fact, and maybe we can talk about that later.”
The woman’s face showed a dark uncertainty as though she had her suspicions but had kept quiet.
The colonel went on. “But I don’t think they’re bad people. And our boy Remington, in particular—who did get me the hell out of whatever goddamn spell that Egyptian had over me—is in over his head. I thought he could use people with proper training and proper hardware. Not to diminish your contribution, of course. But let’s say you guys hold the fort outside here and make sure no innocents wander in and we’ll penetrate the building itself to shoot anyone if they really, really need to be shot.”
Gilmore took him aside by the arm. “I’ll tell them that you’re coming in, with or without their permission. They probably will need all the help they can get.”
“Good,” he replied.
He motioned again, and his men shuffled quickly past the incredulous FBI agents, half of them toward the main doors and the others toward a couple of windows where they’d be able to breach in a less obvious fashion.
The agent leaned close to his ear. “Don’t let me find out I did the wrong thing.”
“Oh,” he commented, “I wouldn’t worry about that. The impression I have is that there’s bad shit afoot that needs to be dealt with. Bad shit that comes from far away and no one fucks with America on my watch.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
New York Public Library Main Branch, Midtown Manhattan, New York
Taylor was afraid. She hated to admit it or even consider it, but denying facts did nothing to change their reality. She had to acknowledge that she’d not been this terrified since…since…
She couldn’t even remember a single instance of this kind of fear.
Even one mistake tonight would result in her own death, she knew, as well as the death—or worse—of the good people now present. All of them had willingly joined this endeavor, knowing the risks but determined to help her anyway.
And after that, New York would fall. The city she had worked so hard to protect and to keep functioning with a modicum of civility would become another barbaric fiefdom populated by almost nothing but Moswen, her sycophants, and millions of slaves whose only destiny would be to suffer.
With New York under the monster’s merciless heel, the rest of the United States might follow. Then the West and possibly even the world.
“No,” she stated under her breath, so silently that perhaps only Conrad might have heard.
The dagger of Teremun al-Harb was in her left hand and a loaded, short-barreled carbine was in the right. The gun would be all but useless against Moswen, but she hoped to pick off a couple of thralls before the main event began. There was no sense leaving them all for Conrad and Remington if she could assist them.
She looked behind her. Alice had begun to cast the spell.
“Light and Dark, Goddess and God, Chaos and Law, witness us now and bestow the protection of your eternal balance…”
While she spoke, Alice crushed the ingredients together in an earthen bowl with an old-fashioned wooden pestle. The various herbs and purified water—the simplest ingredients to acquire—gradually disintegrated, along with the precious primeval apple, the petrified twig, and the dust of Faerie. The dead man’s blood, too, lost its individuality amidst the pasty concoction.
The vampire could only hope they’d b
e able to draw blood from a thrall in time to activate the dagger before Moswen herself entered the fray. If not, the witch would employ Alex’s. That would probably work, although she had her reservations.
It presented a danger of its own. When she had first struggled against Moswen’s magic to remove the man’s brand, some of her own had remained in him. The cosmic powers behind the spell might well interpret Alex to be under Taylor’s control or a joint thrall of both vampires.
If that were the case, the dagger would work equally well against either or both of them. Moswen only needed to seize it in mid-battle, and she would be finished and the evil vampire triumphant.
She’d avoided discussing this possibility at any length so as not to alarm her friends. But it was something she thought about constantly.
“Now,” said Alice, “light first the black candle on the left and then the white candle on the right of the altar.”
Bobby and Remington scrambled to obey. The former clicked an electric lighter next to the black candle, then Remy struck a match for the other. A soft orange glow spread from them to bathe the small table and the wall and floor around it.
The witch raised a simple wooden wand and used it to trace a protective circle around her workspace. That complete, she spoke over her shoulder, addressing all of them generally.
“I am about to begin reading the incantation. It will require intense concentration and take about four to six minutes. I must have the thrall’s blood before the incantation is complete—my voice will rise greatly in volume at the final passage, so you’ll know. If we haven’t wounded one of Moswen’s by then—”
“Yes,” Taylor acknowledged. “Use Alex’s.”
Remy stepped away from the altar, looked around, and snapped his fingers. “Oh, volume. That reminds me. Riley? Where are you? Do the soundproofing spell around the perimeter of this room. The last thing we need is someone coming to investigate gunshots and then hearing weird chanting and animalistic snarls. They’d probably call in a goddamn airstrike.”
Under Pressure Page 25
