by Ann Gimpel
“That does it for the wraiths. At least it won’t stink so bad in here soon.” Joshua stalked toward them dusting his palms together. “Next problem, boys?” His face split into a grim smile. “I heard Breana in there, just as feisty as ever. Abby looks like she’s okay too.”
“Feisty, is it?” Breana drawled. “You boys always did waste a pile of time jawing. ’Sides, Alistair MacDuff’s still about. He kicked down the door, sealed it with magic, and went out through the window. He left us a little consolation prize, but we made short work of him.” Breana laughed wryly. “Never underestimate a determined witch.”
Luke whistled at the sound of Alistair’s name. He’d been head of the Alchemical Council for at least the last fifty years. “So there’re three of ’em,” he said. “Don, Alistair, and whoever’s in the bedroom with the women.”
Sam snorted. Power tumbled from his raised hands as he attacked the black magick around the door again. Instead of running up against MacDuff’s working, Sam’s spell skirted the edges, tasting, testing. Sparks flashed where his magic touched the dark casting.
“I’m going to go see what happened to Chris.” Joshua turned and hustled down the hall. “You don’t need extra magic mucking things up. Seems like that spell needs to be outsmarted, not outgunned,” he called over a shoulder.
“Go ahead and kill Don,” Luke shouted after him. “Breana can tell us what we need to know.”
“You bet I can, sonny,” she yelled from inside the bedroom. “I’d ask you to save his sorry hide for me to kill, but the sooner he’s gone, the safer we’ll be.”
“Where are the books?” Sam asked, still working on destabilizing the black magick spell.
“In the springhouse. Torch the miserable things,” Breana said. An outraged shriek from the male occupant of the bedroom was silenced immediately.
Luke gazed at Abigail. He wanted to power through the barrier, but Joshua was right about the spell needing to be outsmarted. Sam’s magic bounced back and nailed him—again. Luke quirked a brow, but Sam shook his head. “Let me get a better feel for it before I do anything else.”
“I really am all right.” Abigail met his gaze, her hazel eyes warm.
“If you’re feeling all that spunky, how about if you spell me for a bit?” Breana groused.
“Who’s in there with you?” Luke craned his neck, but couldn’t see past the magic blocking the door.
“One of Alistair and Don’s sidekicks,” Abigail said.
“He got a name?” Sam asked.
A muffled grunt and cursing followed. “You heard the nice man,” Breana prodded. “Name.”
“Fuck you,” a voice gasped. It sounded as if someone was sitting on his larynx.
“How come you didn’t finish him off, Breana?” Luke asked. He moved off to the side and sent questing magic into the barrier to help Sam.
“Long story. I needed something to make sure I pulled my head out of my ass and kept it there. Playing games with numb nuts here was just the ticket.”
“Do you know how to dismantle this ward?” Sam asked.
“No. I never leaned black magick. Drew the line there, even though Don hounded me to reconsider. Said it was stronger than ours. I always told him I didn’t care. It made me feel dirty whenever he used it. I couldn’t imagine running power like that through my body.”
Abigail snorted and Luke wondered what had passed between the women. He was just about to troll for details when Joshua screeched from outside, “Shit! Goddamn your sorry ass to hell.”
“Go.” Abigail made shooing motions with both hands. “We’ve got it covered here.”
Luke flew down the stairs with Sam on his heels. “If we get lucky and kill Alistair,” Sam panted, “it will nullify his magic, including what he slopped around the upstairs bedroom.”
Alistair. Even thinking the name made Luke wince. That had to be who was outside. He and Don were all that was left, since the wraiths and mad wolves had deserted. Four of them against one—maybe two if Don had shot holes in their spell—shouldn’t be much of a contest, but he’d learned not to underestimate black magicians. They tapped into Satanic power. It was more potent than theirs, but there was a price to be paid. You had to sign your immortal soul over to the Dark Angel and promise allegiance, even after death.
Luke shivered. All his other confrontations with evil paled in comparison with what he was about to face. He girded himself for the worst. Maybe Chris was already dead, or worse, he’d succumbed to inducements from the other side, which would mean they’d have to kill him, not a pleasant prospect. Thank God Abby was safe. He could face damn near anything so long as he knew he’d be able to wrap his arms around her when all this was over.
He pushed into the yard, jaws clenched, ready for anything.
“Top of the morning to you boys.” A tall, strikingly handsome man with shoulder length tawny curls grinned invitingly. He was dressed in white buckskin and had silver and turquoise Navaho jewelry draped around his neck and on his fingers. His blue eyes twinkled merrily, as if he was having the best of times.
Luke scanned the yard. Joshua stood over a body that lay in the dirt. It had to be Chris, but Joshua had wrapped magic around him, so all Luke saw were hazy edges. He tipped his chin up in question. Joshua shook his head slightly and Luke gritted his teeth in frustration. That head shake could mean anything. Where was Don? He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t divert his attention.
“This has been entertaining,” Alistair went on, “but I know when I’m bested. Think I’ll get out of your hair now, but I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
“Not so fast.” Luke stepped forward.
Alistair curled his mouth into a sneer. “Or what, mage? I’ve been out here listening. You couldn’t even figure out how to dismantle a simple spell. You don’t have the power to kill me.” He snorted. “I didn’t bother warding the window. Thought that worthless sack of dung I left guarding the women was better than that. Pfft.” He spat in the dirt. “Still can’t believe he got run over by a couple of females.” Alistair shook his head in dismay, and then tossed his head back and laughed. Once he got control of himself, he added, “You can always toss the gals a rope, so they can shinny outside. Or you can wait. Once I’m gone, my spell will disperse—in a day or two.”
The dark mage’s laughter held fey edges and filled Luke with blind fury. He wanted to wrap his hands around the magician’s neck and kill him, up close and personal. Alistair’s blue gaze settled on him. “The feeling is mutual. But if it were me, I’d take your woman right in front of you first. Make you squirm a little. She’s a hot little number that one. If you ever get tired of her…”
Luke shrieked a high, feral sound. Anything to shut Alistair up. He gathered himself for a frontal attack, but Sam grabbed his arm. “Stop. He’s taunting you. If you get close enough, he can do real damage.”
“At least one of you has some brains.” Alistair eyed Sam. “Want to switch sides, buddy? We have better pay, much better hours. All the women you can fuck. The finest food—”
“Shut the hell up.” Sam spat the words out. “I’d rather be dead than your lackey. Speaking of which, where’s Don?”
Alistair shrugged. “Oh, is he missing? I hadn’t noticed.” The air around him developed a numinous quality.
Luke exchanged glances with Sam. The black magician was leaving and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do to stop him. Alistair knew it and mocked their weakness with a supercilious grin.
In a fluid, practiced motion, Luke drew a six gun and fired again and again, drilling a line of bullets from the magician’s groin to his head, each shot perfectly lined up. A shocked expression blossomed on Alistair’s face. He clutched his stomach and chest, chanting furiously.
Since his silver and iron ammo seemed to have at least slowed Alistair down, Luke pulled his other gun and emptied it into the man swaying before him. Sam’s chanting rivaled Alistair’s as a magical net settled over the black mage and drove him to the ground. “
As long as we can keep him from leaving,” Sam ground out, “we’ll be in good shape. We can polish off what’s left with mage fire.”
Luke scanned the yard. Where was Don? And then he thought he knew. In the springhouse protecting his precious books.
Alistair groaned, blood pooled around him. “Lift your spell, mage,” he gasped. “I’m rich beyond measure. I’ll promise you anything—and make good on it.” Blood burbled past his lips, ran down his chin, and added more stains to the rapidly-reddening buckskin.
“If I believed that,” Sam growled, “I’d deserve a place right next to you in hell. Die, goddammit.”
“How’s Chris?” Luke called to Joshua.
“Not good. He’d taken on Alistair in hand-to-hand combat. When I got out here, they were rolling around in the yard and Don was nowhere in sight. Alistair barked some kind of command in the Satanic tongue, and Chris clutched his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. That was when I managed to drag him over here and protect him with magic, but I couldn’t take my eyes off that putrid slime ball to do anything else.”
“You did great,” Sam said. “See to Chris. We’ve got things handled. Alistair needs to be deader than this before we call mage fire to finish him, but he’s not going anywhere between now and then.”
“Why will it take him so long to die?” Luke asked, confused. “I pumped twelve bullets into him. Christ, he’s swimming in his own blood. He ought to be dead now.”
Sam shook his head. “He’s got Satan on board. It’s why I have to be careful just when I call mage fire, else it’ll bounce right back at me like his spell did upstairs. Those who’ve sold their immortal souls linger on this side of the veil.” He made a sound between a snort and a grunt. “Maybe it’s on account of now that they know what they got themselves into, they’re having second thoughts.”
“I think I know where Don is,” Luke said. “If you can spare me, I’ll see if I can’t tie off that loose end.”
Sam nodded curtly. “You and I came up with the same answer. He’s wherever the books are.”
“According to his wife, that’s the springhouse.” Luke loped toward the only other structure on the property, his hands extended, magic pulsing from them. He didn’t care about conversation. Not anymore. He wanted Don engulfed in mage fire and the rest of the books incinerated along with him. He commanded the door to open and shot mage fire through it. Don screeched like a scalded cat and burst through the doorway.
“Stop! I’ve seen the error of my ways—” He raised his hands and dark fire raced to obey his call. It met Luke’s magic in the yard between the men, blazing and popping.
“Bullshit.” Luke spat the word, called mage fire, and held his breath. Would it be strong enough to power through Don’s casting? The fires blazed against each other, one red-orange, the other black-tinged. The ground shook and thunder rocked Luke’s stance. He balanced on the balls of his feet and poured magic into his spell, giving it everything he had.
On the other side of the wall of flame separating them, Don was no doubt doing the same thing. Black flames roared up, close to consuming his mage fire. Luke reached deep, summoning recesses within himself he hadn’t touched since the night Tamra died. Slowly, inexorably, his mage fire brightened and drove the dark fire toward Don. With a tremendous heave that nearly flattened him, Luke commanded his fire to surround the dark flames. Once that was done, he tightened the inferno around Don. The man shrieked, shrill and terrible, but they were only shrieks, not an incantation.
Luke stepped toward the pyre, his hands and body shaking from the stress of holding everything together, but Don was burning, screaming and burning, goddammit. Luke wanted to cheer, but he couldn’t divert his attention. Success was like a balm, though, and it jolted his tired body onward. Time passed. Maybe minutes, maybe an hour. Just when he was about to call Sam to spell him, Don’s body burst within the pillar of flame, spraying the ground with blood and bits of grit and sinew.
Luke dropped his weary arms to his sides, breathing as if he’d just run a race. “Thank you,” he gasped over and over, not quite sure who he was thanking for what, but relieved beyond words that the corrupt Coven leader was dead.
When he’d recovered enough to manage the next task, Luke lunged through the springhouse door. He’d known the evil tombs would be there, but he was too exhausted to manage his body’s instinctive reaction, and his gut twisted in revulsion. If books could leer, these did, stacked at odd angles in protective formations. Their magic stung, but Luke powered through it and kicked over stack after stack. As soon as their power lessened enough for him to get close, he scooped armfuls and carried the books outside, feeding them into the fire that had reduced Don to an unrecognizable charred lump.
Seven trips later, he was sweating, panting, and nauseated from touching the miserable things, but the job was done. His arms and chest throbbed from where the books had touched his body, but he forced himself back into the springhouse one last time to make certain some of the hideous things hadn’t hidden themselves in some dark cranny. Sure enough, he found two, butted behind some shelves. Luke wasn’t so tired he didn’t relish the satisfaction when he chucked the stragglers into his fire and commanded it to consume everything within it. That done, he staggered over to where Joshua knelt in the dirt next to Chris.
“How is he?” Luke asked.
Joshua shook his head. “Not good. Alistair must have bitten him. He’s full of dark poison.”
“Can I help?”
“Nah. Your magic’s not any good for healing something this complicated.” Joshua pressed his lips together. “Thanks for offering, though.”
Abigail and Breana dashed into the yard. “The spell weakened enough I could blast through it,” Breana said. She trotted to Sam’s side. “Abby and I killed the one upstairs. Did you kill him?” She nudged Alistair with a boot toe and he groaned. “Humph. Guess he’s not quite dead. Too bad. Where’s my husband?” She scanned the yard, her gaze settling on the second pyre. “Never mind.” Breana strolled to the second fire and spat onto the dirt. “Burning’s too good for him. Mage fire saved him from the life of the damned.”
“Yes but it also saved us from him,” Sam pointed out.
Normally, Luke would have stayed with Chris, but all he could focus his worn-out mind on was Abigail. He made a beeline for her and wrapped her in his arms. She sagged against him. “I’m so tired. Thank the goddess this is over,” she murmured. “It looks as if we’ll get a few days peace.”
“Few days, hell.” Luke tightened his hold on her. “After what we’ve been though, we deserve months, maybe years.”
“Abigail.” Joshua’s voice held an urgent note. “You’ve got healing ability. Help me.”
She scooted out of Luke’s arms and joined Joshua in the dusty yard next to Chris’s inert form. “My powers are pretty depleted. Do you know what’s wrong?”
Joshua nodded. “A whole lot. Like I just told Luke, Alistair must have bitten him. Dark poison has quite a toehold. It’s spread all through his body.”
Abigail skinned her lips back from her teeth, looking like one of the Furies. “No! We cannot let them have him. If we can’t call him back, they’ll take him. It’s how they turn the unwilling.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” Joshua looked as disconcerted as Luke had even seen him. “I’m afraid if I send my magic into him, it will implode or something.”
“We don’t have a choice. If…If the worst happens and we feel him slipping over, you’ve got to drown him in mage fire. A least that way, he’ll have a clean death.” She shook her head. “I hope I’m more help than I think I’ll be.”
“Pretty tapped out?” Joshua asked. When she nodded, he took hold of her hands.
A surprised look blossomed on Abigail’s face. “You’re boosting my magic.”
“Don’t bother to thank me,” he said dourly. “It’s self-serving on my part because I need your help.”
“All right. I won’t.” She inhaled deeply and pull
ed her hands away. “It’s enough. Let’s get started.”
Luke joined them; pain for his friend, Chris, settled in his gut like jagged glass and cut deep with each breath. “I’ve got the death part. You two just concentrate on doing everything you can. If you can’t save him, just say the word and get out of the way.”
Abigail knelt on one side of Chris, Joshua the other. They joined hands and moved them down Chris’ body, chanting. Chris screeched, swore, and writhed, but he was caught fast in their spell. When he switched from English to demon-speak, Luke fought a sinking feeling. They were losing him.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Breana shouted from where she stood next to Sam. Luke’s head spun around just in time to see her whip a knife from a sheath on her belt and cut through Alistair’s neck from one side to the other. What little blood remained in his body welled against the man’s coppery skin. With a cry, she plunged the knife into his heart. Luke felt the air thicken and understood she was exhorting the goddess to make certain the abomination drowning in his own blood was well and truly dead.
“I’ll do you one better. He’s finally dead enough.” Sam dragged Breana upright and called mage fire. It leapt to obey him and enveloped what was left of Alistair in a smoking, stinking pyre.
“Whatever she’s doing, it’s helping us,” Abigail cried.
“Yes.” Joshua croaked. “That sneaky bastard must have taken refuge in Chris, riding on the coattails of his poison. It was why he wouldn’t die, and why we couldn’t call Chris back.”
Chris’s thrashing slowed, and then stopped. His eyes fluttered open and he sucked air like a farrier bellows. “Gone,” he moaned. “That horror’s finally gone. I feel dirty, used.” His gaze settled on Abigail. “God’s teeth woman, how did you manage to have such evil inside you for so long?”
“One minute at a time.” Abigail pushed to her feet. “Let me get you some water.”
“Nah.” Chris flipped over on all fours and lurched upright. “I’ll get my own. Good for me to move around.” He staggered toward the creek, shucking his gun belt and bandoliers as he went, and threw himself into a deep pool, clothes and all.
