We each had one more, new weapon. The day after I had gotten out of the hospital, Teag and I found a package from the Briggs Society that contained two unusual-looking weapons that were a cross between a knife and a pair of brass knuckles. The note with them just said, ‘Best, Archibald’.
Sorren made an initial walk around the perimeter, and then stood to one side, watching and ready. He wore two swords, and a couple of knives. And as a vampire, he was a weapon.
We hunkered down, waiting.
I worried that Sariel and his Nephilim might have spotted our cars, despite the efforts to hide them. I’d forgotten something important: fallen angels can fly.
One by one the Nephilim landed, each of them with darkly handsome faces and ruthless eyes. Coffee Guy was back for a replay, and so was Painting Creep from the Archive, along with the other five Nephilim Chuck and I had fought at the nursing home. Seeing them again was lousy enough, but Ebony was there from the Briggs Society artwork and a new one I hadn’t seen before with long, sandy-colored hair. When they moved away from each other, Sariel stood among them, although I’m damned if I knew how he got there.
Scarred and twisted, Sariel had not weathered the centuries well. Sorren’s immortality came from being a vampire. The Nephilim were otherworldly creatures, and had never been men. Sariel’s long existence came from magic, and magic has a cost.
Sheer hatred glowed in Sariel’s eyes. His skin was marred by white scars that looked like branching lightning bolts, and mottled by diseased, discolored masses. He looked centuries old, but that didn’t make him less dangerous. I’d watched a lot of kung fu movies where the old guy whips everyone’s asses.
I felt the Watchers’ presence even before they touched down. A wave of crippling guilt washed over me, reminding me of every broken promise, every mistake, every time I let someone down.
It’s your fault all those people at the nursing home are dead, the dark magic whispered in my brain. You weren’t good enough. You’re going to fail now, like you’ve failed everyone who ever depended on you.
“Watchers,” Teag muttered. I was pretty sure he was right. Four newcomers were equally handsome to the Nephilim but they looked a little older, more distinguished, and moved with a grace that comes with wealth, power, and consummate self-assurance. If the Nephilim looked like underwear models, the Watchers looked like A-list movie stars. Homicidal, psychopathic movie stars.
Sariel, on the other hand, was butt ugly.
Bo’s ghost growled, and then I felt him nudge my hand. I looked down and met his gaze. My right hand went to the agate necklace, while my left felt for the spindle whorl in my pocket. It’s a lie. I struggled to cast off the Watchers’ magic. I never failed Baxter, or Bo, or Teag, or Sorren, or Maggie –
With a deep breath, I drew on the powerful emotions and memories of my grandmother’s spoon, the wood I had taken for my athame. Not true! I concentrated on the resonance my touch magic read from the athame, the love and warmth and acceptance, the bond of family, and I gathered power from those images and thrust out with it as if I were hitting a plate glass window with my fists.
The Watchers’ illusion shattered. I saw Teag and Chuck shake themselves out of the trance. Daniel didn’t look fazed, and it occurred to me that he might not give a damn whether or not he let anyone down. Lucinda was still chanting. If the Watchers’ poisonous suggestions had any power over her, it did not show.
Sorren raised his head like a viper about to strike, and I saw malice in his gaze. I could only guess what guilt the Watchers had tried to lay on him, for the people he had killed and those he could not rescue. The expression on Sorren’s face said he had reckoned with regret and made his peace.
Game on. Everyone seemed to move at once. A blast of white light came from one side of the clearing and then the next, and gray shadows flew through the air. Three of the Nephilim screamed as Chuck’s explosives fired flexible metal nets that wrapped Baldy, Crow, and Coffee Guy in silver-coated mesh.
Teag and I attacked. Teag’s sword blade passed easily through holes in the net, running Crow through the chest. I loosed a blast of fire from the walking stick at Baldy, setting him aflame as he struggled to free himself from the net that burned with silver and hot metal. Chuck leveled his ray gun and sent lightning bolts blazing toward Coffee Guy, electrifying the metal net and sending blue sparks into the air.
The fourth Nephilim, Asian Dude, ran at Daniel, who had his high-caliber magiked-up handgun out, and he started blasting away. Being corporeal is a bitch; bullets hurt. Chunks of the fallen angel’s flesh flew off in a bloody spray, bones shattered, but the infernal thing didn’t stop coming until Daniel put a silver-tipped bullet through its head and shattered its skull. The corpse vanished.
One down. Eight to go—plus the Watchers.
I felt the tendrils of the Watchers’ power trying to creep back into my brain, hoping to slow me down with remorse. I tuned in my power to my agate necklace and my onyx bracelet, and the tendrils receded.
The Nephilim were tearing their way through the nets. Boy, were they pissed. Red, seeping welts criss-crossed their skin, and their fingers were bloodied and slashed to the bone where they had pulled the chains apart. Coffee Guy’s pretty face was ruined, as if the murderous look in his eyes didn’t already spoil the effect. He was already starting to shift to his true, purple-skin, winged bat-out-of-hell form with savage claws and powerful muscles. The other Nephilim were shifting as well, while the Watchers stood back, letting the foot soldiers take the first assault.
I recognized the Nephilim heading for Teag. He was Ginger, one of the fallen angels at the nursing home, and so was Blondie, the monster running toward Chuck. All I had to do was think about Helen Butler and all of the other nurses and patients who had died, and my blood ran hot. I sent my chakram flying and sliced through both of Coffee Guy’s wings, sending him thudding to the ground with a screech as the chakram embedded itself in the ground.
He was back on his feet quickly, stalking toward me and I knew from his expression he intended to finish what he started.
I grabbed the walking stick and blasted him with fire. I couldn’t hold it long, so I made it as hot as my anger, fueled by the memories of power in Alard’s cane and the images of those old ladies who didn’t deserve their fate. Coffee Guy let out an ear-splitting howl as his skin crisped and peeled away. I had to lower the walking stick and regroup or the magic would drain me dry, and when I did, Coffee Guy just kept coming. He was a charred mess, with blackened strips of skin hanging from his body and burned bone showing through the gashes, but he never slowed down.
Stay out of reach. I had learned that lesson the hard, painful way. Coffee Guy dove for me, but I slipped past him. Without his wings, his advantage lay in strength and those long, sharp, tainted claws. I was fast and small, and my Kevlar and knife-proof shirt were more protection than I’d had before, but I wasn’t going to bet them against a supernatural boogeyman.
Coffee Guy swiped at me again, and this time, his claws raked against my shirt. I felt the pressure of their sharp points, but not the pain. The shirt worked. I’d figure out how to word that in a five-star online review later. Repels hell spawn claws. Yeah, that would go over well.
I wheeled, and this time I had Archie’s brass knuckle talons on my right hand. Nephilim hide is tough, but the blades were sharp as scalpels with a micron-thin coating of silver. I hit him with my full strength, clawing down through the muscles on his forearm to the bone.
I was covered in Nephilim blood, but the strike let me dance back out of his range long enough to drop my athame into my right hand. I dodged this way and that, making him follow me, until I had him where I wanted him, and then I channeled all my rage into my athame’s blast of cold, raw power.
It struck Coffee Guy square in the chest and threw him backwards – right onto the razor-sharp edge of my chakram, which was still lodged in the ground. He landed with his full weight and then some, driving the curve of the blade through his spi
ne. Coffee Guy writhed for a moment and gave one last, hellish scream, before his body vanished. Two down, seven to go.
Sorren and Daniel battled Baldy and Crow. Ebony and Blondie stalked Lucinda. That left Painting Creep and Ginger for Teag and me. Chuck went to help Lucinda, freeing her to concentrate on her magic and leave the fighting to him. The last Nephilim, a guy with sandy-colored, shoulder-length hair who looked like he’d walked off the cover of a romance novel, remained on the edge of the fight, taking time to choose his prey. I hadn’t seen him before, and that worried me. How many more Nephilim could Sariel muster up if he needed reinforcements? I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out.
Through it all, Sariel and his Watchers hung back, and I had the feeling that Sariel was enjoying the show, letting the Nephilim wear us down so that we were easy pickings. He was building a bonfire, and although I figured that couldn’t be a good thing, I had more immediate dangers to worry about.
Teag loosened one of the rope knots that hung from his belt, using the stored magic to refresh his energy. I hadn’t found a way to replenish my magic, and I was sweaty and winded. Holding onto the spindle whorl helped some, and I tried to catch my breath. Fire shimmered in the runes carved into Teag’s fighting staff as he wheeled it overhead. Ginger watched Teag warily, while Painting Creep eyed me. It was the look of a predator deciding which prey was easiest to kill.
I won the bet.
With a growl, Painting Creep sprang at me, and this time, the claws punctured the knife-proof shirt, and raked my left shoulder. I returned the favor, plunging the silver-coated obsidian blades deep into his neck. For an instant, we were locked together, with his claws caught in the tough fabric of my protective shirt and my knives snagged in his leathery skin. Teag seized the opportunity and hit the monster’s head like it was opening day at Wrigley Field.
Painting Creep howled and threw me clear. I tumbled across the ground, and came up just as Ginger grabbed for Teag’s fighting staff. It shrieked as its hand burned on the runes, but all it needed was the chance to pull Teag close enough to grab. The fallen angel yanked Teag’s arm hard enough to nearly dislocate it, then lifted him overhead like one of those movie monsters.
I had Josiah Winfield’s dueling pistol locked and loaded. One shot: I had to make it good. I steadied myself and squeezed the trigger, firing at Teag’s assailant. Fire spewed from the muzzle along with the bullet, which took off the back of Ginger’s skull, raining blood and brains onto the dirt. The monster tottered for a second and then as Teag struggled free, the body crashed to the ground and disappeared.
No time to celebrate. Painting Creep came back at me with a snarl, grabbing my right arm to pull me in for the kill. I raked my brass knuckle blades down his face, sinking one of the blades into an eye as Bo’s ghost leaped at the Nephilim’s back and chomped down hard on the arm that had a hold of me. Painting Creep let go, howling, ichor spilling from his ruined eye, and Teag finished him with his short sword through the neck.
Sorren and Daniel made quick work of their two Nephilim. Crow had changed into his monster form, and Sorren went after it with both swords, landing a deep gash across its chest and taking off one arm. Sorren had taken his share of damage, with a cut down one cheek and four slashes across his chest. He got in another strike with his sword, then dodged out of the way as Daniel plugged Crow full of lead and silver with several rapid, accurate shots that left very little meat on the shattered bones. The carcass dropped to the ground and vanished.
Sorren kept Baldy busy with his swords while Daniel edged into position and fired his harpoon gun. The silver-steel blade went right through Baldy’s back, its point protruding out the front, before Daniel gave a mighty jerk to the rope and hauled the barbed tip backward, raking its blades through the Nephilim’s guts as Sorren landed a clean sword stroke that sent the fallen angel’s head rolling.
Three Nephilim left. Blondie was fighting Chuck, Sandy went after Teag and me. Daniel Hunter circled Ebony, waiting for a chance to strike, and Sorren turned his attention to the Watchers, in case those bad boys decided to get into the fight. I covered Teag while he reloaded one of Josiah’s pistols with the special bullets, sending a blast of flames from my walking stick. Teag had pulled out one of his silver-soaked fighting nets, and was jostling it in his left hand like a bullfighter with a cape.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Teag mocked as I reloaded my pistol.
Nephilim don’t have much sense of humor. Sandy howled and came at Teag in a dead run. Bo’s ghost leaped into the air and sank its teeth deep into the Nephilim’s shoulder, ripping open a wide, ragged gash.
Teag had been practicing with the net. He flicked his wrist and the net snagged over the fallen angel’s clawed hand. Teag dove to the ground in front of me, dragging Sandy with him, and presenting me with a point-blank headshot. I squeezed the trigger of Josiah’s gun and the Nephilim’s skull exploded. His body was gone before it could hit the ground. Chuck fried Blondie with his ray gun and then took off his head with a sword for good measure while Daniel caught Ebony in a fusillade of gunfire and his silver-bullet-ridden body crumbled to dust.
That left the Watchers, Sariel, and however many Reapers Sariel could conjure up. The odds weren’t in our favor.
Archibald Donnelly and the rest of our team had gone to Bloody Bridge to battle Reapers. I wondered how they fared, and if they would make it here in time to lend a hand. That depended on whether Sariel had an unlimited number of shadowy hench-spirits. But they weren’t here yet, so if we were going to be rescued, we’d have to do the rescuing ourselves.
A breeze stirred the cobalt blue spirit bottles, with the clink of glass on glass. The lone shoe twirled as another gust stirred the heavy, warm air. A moment’s stillness, a pause in the carnage.
Enraged at the defeat of the Nephilim, Sariel shrieked a command, and dark shapes swarmed from the bonfire. They danced in the flames, and for a moment I saw the twisted faces and gaping maws of nightmare and legend. Reapers, come at the command of their master.
“Go!” Sariel commanded.
The Reapers rushed toward us like a dark tide. I knew what they could do to ghosts. I didn’t want to find out first-hand what they could do to people, and I had no intention of letting them near Bo. I used one of the bags of salt in my pocket to make a quick protective circle for me and Bo’s ghost, but it wouldn’t hold against anything too strong or determined. Inside the circle, Bo snarled and snapped as the Reapers surrounded me, and the night air grew cold.
“You have got to be kidding,” Teag groaned. Sariel was not going to let us interfere with his final act of vengeance. As we fought on, Sariel continued the ritual that would bring the fifth Watcher through and rain chaos down on Charleston.
That was not going to happen on my watch.
I held out my athame, sending a cold white burst of force. The light and force went right through the Reapers. Chuck lobbed EMF grenades left and right, setting off brilliant flashes. Each time, the Reapers screeched and drew back, but the grenades weren’t destroying them, just making them back off. Sooner or later, Chuck was going to run out.
Teag wrapped his silver-infused net around himself, covering his head and torso. A Reaper came at him fast, shadowy hands outstretched to grab and rend. Instead, the Reaper let out an earsplitting cry of pain as it touched the silver. Teag snapped his metal whip, and the silver-coated blade snaked through the Reaper shadow. The Reaper twisted and screeched, pulling back fast. Teag had won a round, but there were so many Reapers and his whip, like my athame and Chuck’s grenades, only drove them back. We weren’t destroying them.
Sariel was already making a circle for his last, grand working. All he had to do was bring across his fifth Watcher, and then he could unleash the Harrowing on Charleston, killing tens of thousands of people and getting his vengeance on Sorren. Unless we lived long enough to stop him.
Sariel and his Watchers had juiced up their mojo consuming Reapers and drawing power from deaths of the stairw
ay disappearances. We’d had nothing more than a good night’s sleep. No wonder Sariel had stayed out of the fight himself. He was saving his magic for the big finale.
“You’ve lost, Sorren,” Sariel shouted. “You and your pathetic soldiers will be the final sacrifices.When the fifth Watcher comes through, this city and everyone you have loved in it will pay for their transgressions in flames.”
Sariel stood before a blazing bonfire. “Marinette! Come to us! Aid us and you will have death a-plenty to feed on!” In the dancing shadows of the firelight, I spotted a skeletal image of a woman. Dry skin was pulled tight as a mummy across bone, and tangled dirty hair fell shoulder-length on a flowing red dress. Crabbed hands clutched black feathers, while her red eyes pierced the darkness, and her bony feet shuffled on the dry ground.
This was Marinette Bois Sech, the Voudon Loa, the one to whom Sariel had made the sacrifices at the power plant. I thought I was already as terrified of the Watchers as I could get, but the fearsome sense of old magic that rolled off Marinette was nearly heart-stopping in its intensity.
Sariel wasn’t the kind of bad guy who wastes time monologueing. While the Nephilim kept us busy, he was drawing on Marinette’s power to open a gateway and bring through the last Watcher. It didn’t take much to guess what was in it for Marinette. Death and fire were enough for her. Sariel would start by killing us, and then slaughter thousands of people – but he would wait to destroy Sorren until he had made sure everyone and everything Sorren cared about was gone.
The air rippled and shimmered over Sariel’s bonfire, then tore in two, revealing a black void. The Watchers were chanting with Sariel, and any second now, the fifth Watcher would come through, and the killing would begin. We had to stop it. I just didn’t know how.
Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) Page 35
