Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Sariel came over the hill first, followed by the scarred, half-human thing that was once Samuel. Where Judge Larson’s alliance with Sariel had preserved his outward appearance, Samuel’s years of following his father into battle on their quest for vengeance had left him battered and broken. Half of Samuel’s face had been badly scarred by fire, costing him an eye. He moved with a hitch in his gait from old wounds, and his left arm was crippled. Still, he followed, his eyes alight with the same cold malice that animated his father.

  We waited in the shadows, cloaked by amulets and wardings. Sariel strode down into the old graveyard and spread his arms, raising them to the sky as he began to chant. Samuel kept watch behind him, with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  Wind rustled through the live oaks’ branches, stirring the moss at first, then tearing at it with force as the breeze became a howling maelstrom. Behind Sariel, it looked as if the night sky itself were ripping open, a jagged tear inky black against the starry heavens.

  Sariel’s chant grew louder, and through the rip, I could see shadows descending. Twisting, bat-like shapes emerged from the tear in the sky: Nephilim, tainted spirits born of blood and debauchery that hungered for souls. Sariel had brought five Watchers through already, and the Yellow Fever that now claimed tens of thousands of lives would not end until we destroyed the ones who brought the Harrowing down on Charleston.

  Columns of light flared, one from each corner of the burying ground where my allies had concealed themselves. Inside each warded column was a powerful magic user: witch or warlock, mambo or houngan, even a Cherokee shaman. The shimmering light lit the open field more brightly than moonlight, and as I watched, the light began to stretch out between the pillars and over our heads, until we were enclosed in an iridescent dome.

  Magical barriers prevented whatever came through that rift from harming those outside the dome or from retreating back from whence they came. If our magic was strong enough, Sariel would not be able to bring more of his minions through the rift, and his Harrowing would end with his destruction.

  Until then, we were trapped inside, along with Sariel and his Nephilim.

  “Now!” I shouted, and my allies cast off the charms and spells that had hidden them from Sariel’s view. They rose from the shadows, and power surged in arcs through the air, hitting the Nephilim and Watchers. The monsters shrieked and screamed, twisting as our magic consumed them. The air smelled of sulfur and decay.

  A dozen Nephilim had come through the rift along with the five Watchers. We had our hands full. I ran for Sariel, sword raised. Gunfire would not harm him; that, we had learned the hard way. But the steel blade in my grip had been spelled by a master witch, and it gleamed a cold, blue light as if it were eager to taste blood. Samuel stepped between us and leveled his gun at me.

  I felt the bullet from Samuel’s gun tear through my chest but I kept on going. Another shot, another sharp, agonizing pain, as a second bullet ripped into my left shoulder. Still, I ran. That was why we had left Sariel and his son for me to battle. I was hardest to kill. I dodged the next two bullets, and the fifth grazed my temple. I was close now, and before he could shoot me point-blank, I dove and rolled, fast enough to move out of the way in the instant between the pull of the trigger and the flash of the muzzle.

  Samuel screamed a curse and turned on me with his sword, tossing his gun to the side and drawing a knife from his belt. He was no longer fully human and it showed in his quick reactions and in strength nearly equal to my own. Sariel saw us close on each other, but the magic onslaught from my allies kept Sariel out of our fight. My allies kept the strikes coming, positions always changing, moving targets Sariel could not find to hit.

  “You have been judged and found guilty.” Samuel announced as our swords met each other. “I will be your executioner.”

  “Not today.”

  Unlike his father, Samuel was mortal. His enhanced abilities came from an amulet on a leather strap around his neck. I could see the strap now, and as my blade screeched down the steel of his sword, Samuel buried his knife hilt-deep in my belly. I gasped, but took the pain, stepping toward him to slash my knife across his neck, severing the leather strap and then, reversing course to slit his throat.

  Samuel’s body toppled to the side and I nearly fell with him. Dark blood spilled out from the gash his knife had torn in my abdomen. My bullet wounds were already healing, but they hurt like hell. And as Samuel’s body hit the ground, Sariel finally realized what I had done.

  “My son!” he screamed, mad with rage. Sariel turned on me, the other attackers forgotten, and gathered his power for a fatal blast.

  I raised my sword and prepared to fight, resigned to my own destruction.

  A blinding flare of light struck Sariel squarely in the forehead, and he froze. Blasts of fire burned at Sariel’s back, followed by cold so sudden and intense that it raised a heavy skin of ice over his entire form, immobilizing him. Wave upon wave of magic struck him, and only then did he realize that I was just the bait.

  His mouth was already forming a killing curse when a column of iridescent light fell around him, imprisoning Sariel. I could see the rage in his face, and knew that he wanted my blood. My allies sent their power coursing towards Sariel, enveloping him in a ball of fire and magic. I heard a scream, smelled burning flesh, and then he and the flames were gone.

  I opened my eyes and saw Sorren watching me intently. The ring tumbled from my hand onto the table. Teag stirred in his chair, and looked at me with an expression of awe. “Is that how it always is for you when you touch something? Damn, girl!”

  I gave a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much. Sometimes it’s worse.”

  It took me a moment or two to process what I had seen. Sorren doesn’t share many items to give me visions, and I’m pretty sure I know why. I always come away with more clues to who Sorren is – and was. I think that makes him uncomfortable. Memories and emotions hit me that weren’t part of the intended message. Mostly, what I pick up is loneliness.

  “So Sariel’s son was sucked into the family madness,” I said. “And in the last battle, you went after Samuel knowing it would distract Sariel so the others could attack and bind him.”

  Sorren nodded. “Yes.”

  “The people who helped you, the ones with magic,” Teag asked, “are any of them still around?”

  Sorren chuckled. “No. They were either mortals who died a long time ago, or they were destroyed in one battle or another over the years. I’m the only one left. Except for Sariel.”

  “That battle we saw was fought somewhere near Charleston?” I asked. “Did he pick the city for his Harrowing because of you the last time, too?”

  “The battle was about fifty miles from here, out on a large plantation,” Sorren replied. “And no, the location was one of convenience – for Sariel. Charleston was a prize ripe for the picking, its climate suited to pestilence, which has always been a feeding ground for the demonic.”

  “Now, he’s bringing the fight back to Charleston again,” I mused. “You cost him a son; he’s going to make you pay by destroying a city.”

  “I don’t have any mortal descendants,” Sorren replied. “Hadn’t gotten around to that when Alard turned me. Over the centuries, I made very few fledges, and most of those whom I made disappeared or have been destroyed.”

  I thought of Mrs. Butler, out at Palmetto Meadows. Someone had raised wards around the nursing home, and I was willing to bet Sorren had something to do with it. Had he taken other precautions to protect her as well?

  “How do you plan on fighting Sariel this time around?” Teag asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Sorren said. “There’s even more at stake now. Charleston is a bigger city. An epidemic now could kill ten times as many as back in 1854.”

  “Can we assemble a team like you had the last time?” I asked. “Can the Alliance send anyone?”

  Sorren shrugged. “On the first question – yes, we can assemble a team, but
the skills and magic will be different from what I had to work with before. As for the Alliance, they’re the ones who sent Daniel Hunter, and they’re providing help in other ways.” He gave me a wan smile. “No matter how much of an ass Hunter might be, he’s good at what he does.”

  I don’t like trophy hunters in the normal world, but I thought of the demonic creature Coffee Guy had begun to turn into, and decided that I wouldn’t mind if Daniel Hunter bagged and stuffed it and hung it on his wall.

  “The attacks you’ve been battling all over North America, they weren’t just to harm people you cared about,” Teag said. “It’s also stretched the Alliance thin, keeping them from massing against the real strike.”

  Sorren nodded. “I fear you’re right. The Alliance doesn’t dare risk leaving those other locations undefended. But it means that we’ve got to fight Sariel with the resources we’ve got. And hope that they’ll be enough.”

  THE NEXT DAY at noon, Baxter and I were scheduled to go to Palmetto Meadows. I was ready for something to take my mind off Nephilim, Watchers, and sorcerers. Still, instead of my purse I took a backpack with some of my weapons, and I wore Bo’s collar and had my athame up my sleeve. Just in case.

  Seeing the smiles from the nurses when Bax and I walked into the lobby lifted my spirits, and I knew that to the residents, ‘dog day’ was the highlight of their week, or what they remembered of it.

  All the more reason why I was surprised when sour-faced Becky stopped me before I got to the reception desk. “What is that dog doing in here?” she demanded, eying Baxter disdainfully.

  “We went through this last week,” I said. “Baxter is a therapy dog. This is our usual day to visit,” I replied.

  “I didn’t hear anything about that,” Becky snapped. “You’ll have to go outside until I can confirm.”

  I walked back through the door with Baxter, perplexed at Nurse Becky’s rudeness. That’s when I realized that I hadn’t felt the shimmer of the wards that protected the nursing home. That’s odd – and disturbing.

  There wasn’t time to ponder it, because Judy came hurrying out to meet me, looking embarrassed. “I am so sorry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Becky hadn’t followed. “She’s new… doesn’t excuse –”

  I shrugged. “Forget about it,” I said. “Baxter doesn’t care, and neither do I.” I paused. “It is okay for us to come in?”

  Judy nodded. “Yes. Hell, yes. And I made sure Becky won’t bother you. Come on in.” I followed her, and Baxter trotted in like a celebrity. All he needed was sunglasses.

  “What’s new today?” I asked.

  “Absolutely nothing, which is how I like it,” Judy said. Being around Judy always made me feel good. I wondered if she had that effect on the residents, too, and whether it was part of her magic. If so, I hoped the nursing home paid her double.

  “You want something before we start? Coffee? Water for Baxter?”

  “No thanks. We’re ready to get going,” I said as we entered the activity room. I noticed a large framed canvas of an ancient live oak tree with engraved brass name plates on different limbs and branches. A side table beneath the canvas held a bouquet of fresh flowers and a silver candelabrum with unlit white taper candles.

  “What’s that?” I asked. I couldn’t help noticing how much the live oak looked like the Angel Oak.

  “Do you like it?” Judy asked. “It’s been in the works for a while, but they just hung it up over the weekend, so don’t feel like your memory’s slipping. We added the flowers and candles to make it look festive.”

  I got up close and looked at the plaques.

  “They’re in memory of residents who have passed on,” Judy said. “It’s our way of honoring them. I think you realize that the staff here gets pretty attached to them.”

  Like the real Angel Oak, the tree in the mural had thick limbs and lots of twisting branches, heavy with leaves. There were already a lot of small plaques commemorating former residents.

  A few heads turned when Judy had buzzed Baxter and me into the activities room. Several older ladies began to clap, and Baxter – the little show-off – pranced a few steps on his hind feet. Mrs. Peterson and Miss Henderson were playing cards. The TV on the wall was showing 1960s sitcoms, and four residents sat on the couch, some watching, and some dozing. Over to one side, I saw Chuck Pettis and Mr. Thompson playing checkers. Chuck saw me and waved, so we went over there first.

  “Nice morning,” Chuck said. He had a different vest on today and I couldn’t hear his protective watches ticking, so I wondered if he switched to digital when he wasn’t demon hunting. I noticed he had an umbrella next to his chair, although it was a sunny day. Next to the umbrella lay a worn backpack. I was willing to bet he had even more ‘surprises’ in his backpack than I had in mine. I guess we both felt jumpy.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,” I replied.

  “Humph.” Mr. Thompson did not look up, but he did look down at Baxter, who presented himself to be petted. I lifted Bax and looked for a nod to say it was okay to put Baxter in his lap. Baxter cuddled in and looked up with his black-button eyes, confident he could melt even Mr. Thompson’s heart. Old Man Thompson finally relented and managed half of a smile.

  “Cute little fellow. Reminds me a lot of a dog I used to have. Tilly. Did I ever tell you about Tilly?” he asked as his gnarled, calloused hand stroked Baxter’s head.

  I smiled and shook my head, ready to hear Tilly’s story again. Meanwhile, I noticed that Mr. Thompson, Josiah Winfield’s descendant, had his cane tucked beside him on his wheelchair seat. Interesting. He might need a cane to get out of his wheelchair. Or it might be handy as an athame.

  I watched Mr. Thompson as we chatted about the weather. His topics were random, and he repeated himself a lot. But his eyes were clear and sharp, and I wondered how much of his ‘dementia’ was a game.

  Chuck seemed to guess my thoughts. “You’ve got me,” he conceded, and he looked up to meet my gaze. “Happens most of the time we play. He beats me fair and square.”

  Huh. I know dementia patients have moments of clarity, but if Mr. Thompson won most of his matches, I was willing to bet that he was faking at least some of his decline.

  I took Baxter back from Mr. Thompson, careful not to touch his skin. “I’ll let you two get back to your game,” I said, and led Baxter away, though I felt Mr. Thompson’s gaze on us as we left. I still wasn’t sure whether he was friend or foe.

  Bax and I made the rounds. I felt like the handler for a rock star, while Baxter strutted his stuff. Don’t ask me how, but that little show-stopper knows when he’s got the spotlight. The nursing home is mostly older ladies and a few long-lived men. Even the old guys who were as crusty and hard-bitten as Mr. Thompson melted for Baxter. I looked the other way as they slipped him broccoli and Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and green beans. He ate like a pig, and it was clear from the furtive looks that the residents all felt like they had put one over on Judy and me.

  Baxter fairly bounced from one resident to another. Yet all the while as I smiled and made pleasant conversation, my mind kept straying to the present situation, aka the impending doom of Charleston. Sariel was out to get Sorren, and he didn’t care how many thousands of people he killed to do it. I remembered a t-shirt I had seen about not annoying T-rex because we’re crunchy and yummy with BBQ sauce, or something like that. That’s how I felt: utterly not up to the task of saving the world in a pissing match between two immortals.

  Baxter, however, lives in the moment, and at the moment, he was a superstar. After we had chatted with about a dozen ladies, I spotted Helen Butler out in the garden. Baxter and I made a beeline to see her.

  Mrs. Butler looked up as we opened the door to the garden. Her lined face lit up for a few seconds with expectation, then fell when she realized we weren’t who she was waiting for. Still, she brightened when she saw Baxter. “Now aren’t you a cute little fellow. What’s your name?”

  We had this
conversation every time, but I’d learned to take it in stride. “He’s Baxter,” I replied.

  “Baxter,” she repeated, stroking his fur. “I wish my gentleman caller was here to see him. He’d like Baxter.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Sorren, in his own way, was extremely fond of the little dog.

  “I’m sure he would,” I replied. “Will he be stopping by sometime today?”

  Mrs. Butler frowned, thinking. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I thought I could glimpse how pretty she had been, years ago. “I don’t know,” she said, looking unsure. “Maybe. He… comes and goes.” She waved a shaky, spotted hand toward an album on the table. “Have you seen my pictures?”

  We had time for this. Even if the world tottered on the brink of extinction. I sat for a moment, and Mrs. Butler held Baxter on her lap, and together we flipped through the faded pages of her scrapbook that lay next to knitting needles and a skein of yarn on the garden table.

  “Look at that!” she said, pointing to a photo that was yellowed with time. From the styles, I guessed that it was from the 1940s. The young woman who would become Mrs. Butler was a knock-out in a bathing suit, having fun at a picnic near a swimming hole. “My, we were daring, weren’t we! Jumping off the rocks like that. What were we thinking?” It seemed hard for me to imagine the frail nonagenarian jumping at all, let alone diving into what looked like an old quarry. I gained a better appreciation for what Sorren had seen in her.

  “Well,” she said as we finished looking at the pictures. “You’ve got to get going. If you see my young man, let him know I’ll save him a place at dinner.” She picked up the knitting needles and shook out the half-finished scarf she was working on. “I’m making this for his birthday,” she confided.

  I gave her arthritic hand a gentle pat. “I will be sure to let him know you’re expecting him for dinner,” I said. She rustled Baxter’s ears one more time, and then waved good-bye as he and I made our way back inside.