by Lisa Smedman
Berthiaume leaped down into the open space below the freighter's cargo hatch, landing with a splash beside the bodies, and immediately began casting a spell. I had switched to astral vision and saw it spreading out from him like an expanding aura, tendrils of magical energy fingering their way in through the cracks around the closed hatch to whatever lay beyond it. I guessed that he was using magic to get a sense of whether any threats lay inside the ship.
"Clear!" he yelled back up at the hydrofoil.
I jumped.
I landed with a splash beside Berthiaume as he undogged the hatch. He waved me to the side and I crouched low, making the shift into wolf form. Even though a ship is a tough place for a wolf to get around in—too many handles and ladders—I wanted my sense of smell as an early warning system. I could always switch back to human form if I had to.
In wolf form, the water level was at my knees, soaking my fur. It wasn't rising, though, even though more water was slopping down into the cargo well all the time. I heard a faint gurgling noise, and guessed that pumps were clearing water from the area.
I paused just long enough to sniff at the blood from the two dead bodies—both were male, and both had Native American features. The blood smelled hot and fresh, and my mouth filled with saliva. I licked my lips and sniffed again.... Then I tore myself away and followed Berthiaume inside, leaving the hatch open behind me.
Leaving it undogged was a gamble; if the pumps cut off, the cargo well would fill with water, which would flood down into the ship itself. Judging by the watertight hatch, the smugglers probably kept the cargo well filled with water when they weren't loading or offloading contraband, as a barrier to astral intrusion. But leaving the hatch open was the only way we'd be able to bring in astral backup quickly—the only form of backup we were likely to get with Dass and the others in the hydrofoil busy chasing down the smugglers. And if the water started flooding in, we'd know it was time to turn back.
We were in a wide corridor that led toward the stem. Doors on either side of the corridor had been welded shut. They were rusted solid, slimed with seaweed, and obviously hadn't been opened in decades. Halogen lights in the ceiling provided a brilliant glare.
Outside, I heard the receding roar of jet turbines as the hydrofoil set off in pursuit of the smugglers's boat. Then all was quiet, save for the churning of the waves and the sound of the wind outside—and the creak of Berthiaume's armored jacket as he crept down the corridor, Uzi in one hand and his spell fetish in the other.
I sniffed.
The air, which was being circulated into the corridor from somewhere else in the vessel, was full of scents. I could smell grassy manure—probably the droppings of a pegasus—and a dry reptilian scent that was probably snake. I also caught the unmistakable stench of cat urine and the wild musk of a paranormal dog of some kind. The last one made me stop and leave my mark, just on general principle.
But all of these scents were old. I didn't think any of these animals had been on board for weeks.
There were fresh scents, however. Those of the two men who lay dead in the cargo well—and one that was all too familiar: the elf Galdenistal Tathem.
So that was who had shot his way past the smugglers and into the freighter. But why? Did that mean Jane was on board? Was golden boy once again trying to take her back home to the Tir? But I couldn't smell Jane's scent anywhere.
The corridor we were following came to a T-junction. Berthiaume peered in both directions, then motioned for me to wait. I couldn't see his face behind the visor of his helmet, but I guessed that he was radioing back to the hydrofoil, filling Dass in on our progress. I wondered how she was doing. Seasick still, at the very least. But hopefully all right.
The corridor we had come to was short, with a door at either end. Both were open, but just a crack. We couldn't see what lay beyond them. I put my nose to the floor of the intersection and sniffed: Golden boy had gone left—but then he'd doubled back again and headed in the opposite direction, to the right. There was also a scent I didn't recognize—human male—to the left. Probably a smuggler, somewhere behind the door at the end of the corridor.
I changed back into human form and shifted my vision away from astral space.
"Let's go this way," I whispered, jerking my head to the right. "There's a—"
Berthiaume shook his head before I could warn him that there was another smuggler on board and jerked a thumb authoritatively to the left.
I growled my frustration. The elf had already gone that way and come back again. Which meant that, if Jane was on the freighter, she wasn't in that direction. The elf wouldn't still be searching for her otherwise.
"We go right," I whispered angrily.
The helmet visor turned my way; Berthiaume was probably glaring at me. But then he turned his back, dismissing me. He didn't even ask me whether I'd smelled anything. His detection spell was still active, and I guess he wanted to rely on that, rather than on my sense of smell. Well, frig him.
Standard operating procedure would have been to stay together, since I didn't have a commlink. But as an irregular asset, I was used to working on my own. And I didn't like the smell of Berthiaume. Whenever I was around, his scent became faintly hostile.
I crept down the corridor and paused near the open door to smell what lay beyond it. Golden boy's scent was strong, but not so overpowering as to indicate that he was right behind the door. I opened the door wider—and cursed softly when I saw a ladder leading down to another door, about six meters down. I'd have to descend the ladder in human form, and I'd be vulnerable all the way down. The only way to do it was fast.
I gripped the ladder with my hands, and braced my feet lightly on either side. Then I slid, barely braking my fall. When I hit bottom I crouched, then changed in one swift motion. Then I shouldered open the bottom door, and leaped into the space beyond. If there was anyone on the other side of that door, they probably weren't expecting a wolf.
I laid my ears back when I saw what I'd jumped into. I was inside a large hold that was filled with dozens of glowing balls of light: corpselights. I tensed, and the fur on my back rose. But then I realized I couldn't smell them. They were here in the physical world, but somehow ... not here.
Then I realized that the balls of light weren't moving, and saw that they were inside cages made of woven wicker. Each was just big enough to hold the glowing ball that was the corpselight's "body" in the physical world.
I shifted to astral vision and confirmed my suspicions. The wicker was infused with a silver glow that was the astral imprint of the magical ward that held the corpselight firmly inside the cage. Somehow, the corpselights's tentacles were compressed inside that tiny space; the wards must have been powerful. All I could see of the corpselights themselves were their gigantic, weirdly irising eyes, staring malevolently out at me.
Each cage had a thread of magical energy snaking away from it; these magical threads passed out through the bulkheads of the ship as if the metal wasn't even there. Each thread was a link to astral space, to the energy that was sustaining the ward. It was also a link to the mage who had cast the ward in the first place.
Only a mage or a shaman could remove the wards on the cages. Which explained why the "drug" Halo was sold only to magically active users. Presumably, the cages could also be re-warded, trapping the corpse-light inside the cage again once the user had gotten a fix. But I pitied the spell chucker who had to try this while a corpselight was trying to suck the life essence out of them. They'd be dead meat—just like the "overdoses" Lone Star had been finding all over Halifax and other Maritime cities.
Golden boy's scent was fresh and strong. Even from where I crouched, I could tell it led across the hold to a door like the one I'd just come through. Galdenistal must have gone through that door, and recently, too.
I heard a clang then, from up above. Whirling around, I peered back up the ladder behind me. Someone had shut the door at the top of it. I could hear the sound of metal bolts sliding into pla
ce, as someone dogged the door shut.
Drek! I shifted into human form and climbed the ladder as quickly as I could. But I was too late—the door was shut. And there was no way to open it from this side.
I banged on the cold metal, even though I knew it was useless. "Berthiaume!" I shouted. "Open the frigging door!"
But the scent I smelled, lingering in the air, was that of an unfamiliar human. It had to have been a smuggler who'd locked me into the hold.
There was nothing to do but wait for Berthiaume to take the smuggler down; when he'd made the bust, the combat mage would come to free me.
Assuming that he hadn't been taken down himself— or been locked into another hold.
I climbed back down the ladder. Picking my way carefully between the cages filled with corpselights, I tried the door at the opposite end of the hold, only to find that it had been welded shut. Frustrated, I began searching the hold for another way out.
That was when three things happened, almost at once.
The lights went out.
Someone shot me.
And the threads of magical energy that had been sustaining the wards on the cages disappeared, releasing the corpselights from their cages.
13
The shot blazed out in the darkened hold, an angry gout of red fire. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils as a hot streak of pain tore across my hip. It stung worse than any wound I'd ever had before, as if the bullet that had torn the shallow crease in my flank were made of molten metal. I could feel the skin blistering around the wound and knew in an instant what had happened: I'd been shot with a silver bullet.
This was one wound I wouldn't regenerate from. It would be with me for weeks—assuming I lived that long. If another silver bullet found its mark, I'd be dead.
I threw myself to one side, dropping and shifting into wolf form as I did. I already knew who my adversary was—his scent was strong, even over the gunpowder. The elf Galdenistal must have been in the hold the whole time. Somehow he'd managed to stay hidden, and had lain in wait until I made the mistake of approaching too close to his hiding place. Now he was trying to kill me. If I'd been in wolf form, I suppose I would have smelled him sooner.
Another shot filled the hold with a crash of noise. The bullet smacked into a metal pipe beside my head with a heavy thunk, shattering as it struck. A tiny splinter of silver ricocheted into my ear with a hot sting that felt as if a thousand wasps had concentrated their venom, all in one needle-thin spot. I choked back a whimper. Had I still been in human form, that shot would have taken me through the heart.
The hold was dimly illuminated by the corpse-lights, which cast flickering shadows on the walls. Their foul stench was overpowering, now that they were escaping from their cages. The smugglers must have decided to abandon the corpselights because of the raid, like drug dealers tossing aside their stash during a bust. Whoever had warded the cages must have negated the magic that was holding the corpselights inside, so that the police couldn't track the threads of magical energy that led back to the mage in astral space.
Galdenistal was still invisible—I couldn't even see his shadow. But despite the rotten-meat reek of the corpselights, my sense of smell told me where the elf was, and I used my astral perception to pinpoint him. On the astral plane, his body appeared as it did in the physical world, down to the wetsuit he was wearing and the pistol in his hand.
I sprang at him, teeth bared. I aimed for his wrist, intending to clamp my teeth around it and shake the gun out of his hand. But he was too quick for me. He moved with the speed and grace of a martial artist, flowing with my attack. My teeth brushed against the spongy fabric of his wetsuit, and I tasted rubber. Then I was hurtling past him, the momentum of my leap carrying me into the wall.
I spun around and saw Galdenistal raising his pistol. But he wasn't aiming it at me. I was still using astral vision, and so I saw the danger that lay just behind him. The hold was rapidly filling with floating corpselights, their tentacles writhing as they fought to get past one another. One was closer than the rest; the tip of one of its tentacles was mere centimeters from the back of the elf's head.
Without astral perception, all Galdenistal would see when he looked at a corpselight was the glowing ball of light that was its eye. The tentacles were invisible to him. He fired at what he could see—the ball of light—and his bullet passed harmlessly through it. At the same instant, the tentacle connected with the back of his neck.
Galdenistal's eyes opened wide, his pupils dilating behind the gold lenses he wore. His mouth opened and his body drooped. Sagging at the knees, he fought to keep suddenly limp fingers wrapped around his pistol. Amazingly, he managed to shake off some of the corpselight's druglike effects enough to lash out with his hand. It was probably just luck, but when the elf's pistol struck it, the tentacle withdrew slightly. For just a second, Galdenistal was free. But then another corpselight fastened a tentacle to the back of his neck. The gun slid from Galdenistal's hand.
I dodged the tentacles that were snaking out toward me. The corpselights were bursting out of their cages and expanding like obscene balloons, and in another minute or so the hold would be so thick with them that there would be no escape. For the moment there was a clear space, low to the floor, that I could dash across if I were quick enough. If I could get to the door that I'd used to enter the hold, I could hole up behind it and wait in the shaft for another member of the Magical Task Force to find me. But I had to move quickly...
Galdenistal gave a shuddering groan and fought to keep his eyes open. I couldn't help but glance at him in horrified fascination. The elf knew he was about to die; I could see the awareness in his eyes. But the sloppy grin on his face told me his physical body was enjoying every moment of it and craving more.
"Tell..." He was struggling to get the words out. "TeU Mareth'riel that I..."
His eyes rolled back in his head. The whisper stopped.
That decided me. I had no interest in saving the life of someone who'd just tried to kill me, but I wanted to hear what Galdenistal had to say. Perhaps he could tell me things about Jane that might help me to rescue her from the smugglers, to give her back her memories.
All I had to do was fight off a creature that had a death grip on the back of the elf's neck, then drag the elf's hoop out through a cargo hold crowded with thrashing, life-sucking tentacles.
There was one slight chance. Bullets didn't seem to hurt a corpselight. Nor did a thrown weapon—back in the parking garage, when the troll had heaved his pistol at the thing, the weapon had passed right through the glowing ball of light without any effect. But when Galdenistal lashed out at the tentacle with his pistol, it had withdrawn. The corpselight had felt that blow. That meant that it had manifested at least in part on the physical plane—and that close-combat attacks which conveyed the attacker's force of will were effective against it.
All of this flashed through my mind in a heartbeat as I launched myself at the corpselight. I nearly gagged as my teeth sank into the tentacle at the back of Galdenistal's neck. It tasted like I'd taken a bite of putrid, oozing garbage. A piece of it tore off in my mouth, gagging me. I opened my jaws and shook my head to get it out of my mouth, cursing the fact that I couldn't spit in dog form.
My attack had been enough. The tentacle withdrew, snaking back toward the creature's bulbous body. I turned to Galdenistal, expecting him to get up. But he lay utterly limp on the cold metal floor. His eyes were open but he seemed unable to move.
I looked around. In a few seconds more, the corpselights would fill the hold entirely. The only thing that was saving my hoop at this point was the fact that the corpselights seemed sluggish; they must have gone without "food" for some time. They seemed to be fighting each other, tangling their tentacles together as each tried to prevent the others from being the first to reach the two juicy morsels that were trapped in the hold with them: us.
There was only one thing I could do. I shifted back into human form and heaved Galdenistal ov
er my shoulder. Then I ran for the door, using my astral vision to spot the tentacles that were reaching out for me. Fortunately, they moved slowly, still sluggish.
But there was one thing I hadn't counted on: the corpselights's magical abilities. I should have known better, given my experience in containing paras. I was almost to the door when one of the wicker cages suddenly shifted into my path. There was no reason for it to have moved; the corpselights must have used psychokinetic energy to toss it against my shins. I tripped, landing in a heap on top of Galdenistal. The elf groaned as his head bounced off the metal floor.
A tentacle reached out for me. I rolled, dragging Galdenistal on top of me. The tentacle connected with the back of the elf's neck, instead. The corpselight drew itself closer as it fed, pulses flowing up the tentacle toward its bulbous body. Galdenistal sighed in my ear as a wave of pleasure washed over him, then slid in a limp heap to one side.
Hoping the thing hadn't killed the elf, I shifted into wolf form. For the second time, I sank my teeth into a tentacle, gagging at its foul taste. The thing released its grip on the elf and floated lazily back. Then the corpselight turned so that its eye was staring at me. It irised open and shut, as if focusing. Then another tentacle—an undamaged one—drifted out toward me.
There was no time to shift back into human form. Grabbing Galdenistal by the scruff of his wetsuit, I lunged backward, dragging him toward the door that was behind me. I fumbled my way back over the lip of metal at the bottom of the door, then wrenched my head sideways to drag the elf over it. But I could only pull him so far. His legs were still in the cargo hold, blocking the door. And the tip of the tentacle was only a meter away now, and headed straight for me.
I needed hands to drag Galdenistal inside the shaft, to close the door. Even as I shifted back into human form, I knew I'd never be able to do both in time.
Then Galdenistal moved. I don't know how he did it, but somehow he summoned up the strength to draw his legs into the shaft. I pulled the door shut, trapping the tip of the tentacle between it and the metal frame of the door. For a moment, there was a rubbery resistance—the door wouldn't close. Then the tentacle seemed to turn into mist. The door clanged shut as the corpselight stopped manifesting in physical space.
