Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Wind gusted through the Angel Oak’s branches. The cobalt blue bottles rattled. The wind grew stronger. The bottles clinked and grated against each other. The whole Angel Oak glowed with an eerie internal light. It lit up the bottles so that their deep blue shone in the night.

  Spirit bottles.

  Lucinda shouted a word of power and raised her walking stick. The bottles rattled again, more forcefully, deep sapphire blue against the night.

  Reapers drifted closer, drawn by the power of the spirit bottles. Lucinda sang, the Angel Oak’s leaves rustled, and the wind hissed like a giant snake. Too late, Sariel saw what was happening, but by then, he had lost control. The spirit bottles called to the Reapers, drawing them into the beautiful gem-colored prisons that clouded and darkened as the devourers were trapped inside. The big tree shuddered as the last of the Reapers vanished into the spirit bottles.

  That just left Sariel, Marinette Bois Sech and the Watchers. A sorcerer with a vendetta, a bat-shit crazy Loa and four high-ranking fallen angels with another Watcher fighting his way between worlds.

  Marinette’s spirit grew more solid as the flames of the bonfire rose. Sariel was working his magic, opening the gateway to Hell. We were fighting as hard as we could, and losing. The fifth Watcher struggled through the ether to get to the opening between our world and his. We had seconds left if we were going to stop a cataclysm.

  Without any kind of signal, we charged at Sariel and his Watchers, determined to go down fighting rather than letting him destroy Charleston.

  Sariel’s magic was tied up in his working to open that portal and bring the fifth Watcher through. He didn’t dare break away to fight us. He needed his Watchers to wreak vengeance, but until the fifth one joined them, they didn’t have a starting line-up. And we gave them no choice except to fight or let us cut them down where they stood.

  The Watchers chose to fight.

  “Leave Sariel to me!” Sorren snarled.

  “Now where would the fun be in that?” a voice questioned from the darkness behind the fire. Archibald Donnelly, necromancer extraordinaire, emerged from the shadows wearing a safari outfit complete with pith helmet. Behind him were Caliel and Father Anne, as well as Mrs. Teller and Niella. They all looked worse for wear, skin streaked with dirt and blood, but they had made it in time, and they looked mad as hell.

  Donnelly raised a churchwarden pipe, holding the pipe bowl in his palm and pointing the stem directly at the portal. The Watcher was fully framed in the ragged opening of the rift between worlds, about to step through the doorway. “Encumber!” Donnelly thundered, and the Watcher receded from the opening, as if he had been pushed far back a long corridor.

  “Don’t you know better than to muck around in the Netherworld when there’s a necromancer around?” he chided Sariel. He turned to Sorren. “I’ll hold the gate. You deal with that sorry son of a bitch.”

  Chuck was already firing at the Watchers. He let out a string of curses, lobbed an EMF grenade, then took careful aim. At the instant the grenade exploded in a burst of electromagnetic energy and cold light, Chuck squeezed the trigger again. Watcher One screamed in rage and pain as the modified bullet tore into his shoulder.

  Lucinda and Caliel joined forces and took on Marinette Bois Sech. The dangerous Loa’s figure had grown nearly solid enough to step out of the fire like a god made flesh. Lucinda never stopped chanting and singing, even when she loosed a torrent of green fire from the tip of her walking stick, which held the remembered power of all the mambos and houngans who had owned it across the generations. Lucinda’s fire hit the apparition square in the neck and face. The green fire met with Marinette’s own flames, red as hell. Fire vied with fire, a test of wills, but for the moment, it halted Marinette’s advance.

  The night smelled of blood and otherworldly ichor, salt marsh and sweat. I caught a whiff of tobacco and the smell of rum. Over to one side, Daniel’s harpoon gun sank its silver-tipped spear right through Watcher Two’s chest. Enraged, the Watcher reached down and yanked the spear back out, hurling it back at Daniel so fast that Daniel barely saw it coming. The harpoon sliced deep into Daniel’s thigh and he cried out.

  Father Anne came at Watcher Two from behind, with a pearl-handled, thin-bladed knife that had its own brand of nasty magic. She stabbed the blade through the Watcher’s neck so that the point came out the other side, and then pulled fast and strong, slitting his throat from the inside out. Father Anne doesn’t mess around. Watcher Two sank to the ground but instead of disappearing, his whole body trembled and then he rose, ready to fight. It was going to take more than a slit throat to put a Watcher down. That was a very bad sign.

  I was busy with Watcher Three, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Mrs. Teller and Niella had retreated to the doorway of the nearby gift shop, where they crouched over the dim flame of a candle. I figured they were casting some kind of Hoodoo protection spell, and I just hoped they’d be quick about it. A brilliant light flared, and Watcher Three staggered. Over his shoulder, I spotted Chuck with his juiced-up ray gun, and he gave me a grim smile. I followed up with a blast from my athame. I charred Watcher Three’s face and Chuck went for the kill, sending the Watcher’s head rolling, but I was tiring quickly, and I knew one more blast was probably my limit.

  Sorren was fighting Sariel, while Donnelly’s magic focused on the portal and Watcher Five, who still hadn’t come through yet to our world. Sariel’s power enabled him to nearly match Sorren’s speed and strength, and it was quickly evident that he knew how to wield the sword he had drawn. Sorren went on the offense with both swords, but his strike missed while Sariel’s sword cut a deep gash in Sorren’s thigh.

  Sorren snarled, and I could see his fangs. “One of your Watchers is down. The rest will die soon. Give it up. The game’s over.”

  “I can still destroy you and yours,” Sariel returned. “Marinette! Goddess! Lend me your strength!” The strain of holding open the portal and fighting off Sorren’s attack was starting to take its toll. In response, Marinette turned from where she withstood the assault from Lucinda and Caliel. I heard a horrible laugh, and then Marinette vanished and Sariel’s whole stance changed. For a split second, I thought I saw Marinette’s image overlaid on his, and then Sariel’s lips twisted in a vengeful, triumphant smile as the Loa possessed him. The transformation was terrifying.

  Sorren had his swords, but juiced up with Marinette’s power, Sariel pulled one of the metal parking signs out of the ground, swinging it one way and the other, first jabbing with the sharp metal sign and then using the concrete that still clung to the other end as a cudgel. It was far beyond his natural strength, and I wondered if he would find his body badly damaged when the Loa finally departed. That would be cold comfort if he beat us into the ground before then.

  The concrete end caught Sorren in the chest, sending him flying with enough impact to break ribs. Sorren was back in the fight in the blink of an eye, dodging in and around the deadly metal and concrete to sink both his blades deep into Sariel’s belly and side, ripping the blades sideways as he pulled them free so that blood gushed and entrails bulged.

  Teag sparred with Watcher Four, managing to keep him at bay, but the Watcher tired of the game and with a howl, shifted to his beast form. I was pretty spent after taking out Watcher Three, but I gathered enough of my strength to channel more magic through the walking stick, and a blast like a torch burst from the end of the cane, hitting Watcher Four square in the torso. He shrieked and swung at Teag and me with his claws, but I managed to dodge the worst of the strikes, though the sharp nails opened new cuts on my shoulder. I staggered, weakened by the outlay of energy needed to use my magic.

  The instant the flames subsided, Teag leaped on the Watcher’s back, slashing with his knife and his dagger, flaying the skin from the fallen angel’s frame. The beast swept Teag aside with one powerful arm, sending him flying across the lot to land hard on his back.

  We were losing, fast. A storm was rolling in, and dark clouds n
ow filled the sky. The air felt thick with power, tingling with electrical charge, like right before lightning strikes.

  Sorren was holding his own against Sariel, but he was bloodied in a dozen places. His shirt hung in tatters, and three deep gouges across his face barely missed his eye. He looked like he was getting the worst of the deal. Caliel and Lucinda had gone to help. Caliel had drawn blades, and teamed up with Sorren to box Sariel in, forcing the nephilmancer to watch two opponents at once. Lucinda channeled her magic through her staff, hitting Sariel with a burst of power to drain his strength, giving Sorren and Caliel opportunity to regroup between strikes.

  Chuck held something that looked like a cross between a cattle prod and a flame thrower. Chuck’s high tech weapons worked like a charm on disembodied creatures like wraiths and malicious ghosts, but it was always a toss-up how they’d affect corporeal creatures. His weapon was holding Watcher One at bay, but it didn’t look likely to destroy the creature, and no battery lasts forever.

  Daniel had either run out of ammo or decided it wasn’t doing the trick. He had regained his silver-tipped harpoon and had a long knife in the other hand. He had fought Watcher Two to a stand-off, but Daniel would eventually tire, and the Watcher would make his move. Father Anne dodged in and out of all the fights whenever opportunity presented to land a blow with a knife spelled and consecrated to be doubly damaging to supernatural creatures. The only problem was, Watchers could take more damage than Nephilim, and we were running out of ways to blow them to smithereens.

  Teag had regained his feet, uncoiling his razor-sharp urumi steel-and-silver whip-blade, lashing out at Watcher Four. Our ‘knife-proof’ shirts and Kevlar vests had deflected the worst of the damage, but now they were torn and we were bloody and bruised, achingly tired. Sooner or later, we were going to lose the focus necessary to do magic. That’s what Sariel was counting on.

  Watcher Four rushed me, and I slashed at him with my brass knuckles knife in one hand as I brought my athame up at point blank range and reached for all the magic I could muster to blast him backward. The fallen angel swung one of its heavy fists and I went sprawling at the base of the Angel Oak, its hard roots scraping across my skin. Bo’s ghost lunged and snapped, positioning himself between me and my attacker, and the Watcher backed off, but it was clear he was waiting for me to tire.

  I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  I dug my fingers into the ground to push myself up, and felt a shiver of power run through my body. Roots. Tree roots. Not just any tree. The ancient Angel Oak. And in my mind’s eye I could see all those roots, tangled and interwoven over the centuries, drawing life from the depths of the ground and stretching leaves toward the stars.

  “Teag!” I shouted. “Pull on the fabric of the roots!” I ran for the trunk and threw my arms out wide, pressing my back and palms against its rough bark, expecting any moment to feel the Watcher’s claws. Bo’s ghost was right in front of me, growling a warning for the Watcher to keep his distance.

  Thousands will die and it’s going to be your fault. You failed. You weren’t good enough. The Watchers knew I was tired, and the insidious tendrils of guilt and doubt snaked toward my mind now that I was almost too weary to fight them away. You might as well die. All that blood on your hands…

  Overwhelming remorse and guilt swept over me, tearing a sob from my throat. My hands splayed against the bark of the broad trunk, holding me up. That’s when I realized something important.

  Remorse can cripple you and make you give up. Or it can be the hard lesson that puts steel in your spine and gives you the strength to fight the headwind.

  In that moment, I used my touch magic to draw on the strong emotions the Angel Oak had witnessed in all its long life. Humans had sought it out for shelter or as a canopy for their happiest times. Animals and birds made their homes in its branches. Storms battered it. Rain nurtured the tree and sun warmed it. I glimpsed images that swept past me, too numerous to see clearly, spanning centuries. And something more. After all those years, the Angel Oak wasn’t just alive.

  It was aware.

  I thrust my magic deep into the heartwood of that ancient tree as my feet stood among its roots. Teag was sending his weaving magic down into the mat and fiber of those roots, into the sprawling, complex tangle that supported and fed the tree. The root mass for a big oak could be many times bigger than the spread of its branches, and the Angel Oak’s branches were enormous, which meant its roots probably sprawled halfway to Atlanta.

  Magic charged the air all around me. The breeze picked up again, swinging that lone shoe and clinking the spirit bottles together. That’s when I realized that more than the tree was feeding my magic.

  Someone had entered into the tree itself.

  “Father Gran Bwa, Father Damballah Wedo, hear us in our time of need!” Lucinda cried. “Lend us your aid!”

  The smell of cigars and rum was strong now, and I could feel another spirit alongside the Angel Oak’s own awareness, a powerful being far more ancient even than the oak, beyond immortal to timeless. Gran Bwa, Loa of the trees and Earth, one of Voudon’s most powerful mage spirits had answered Lucinda’s call. He wasn’t alone. I blinked my eyes, trying to make sure I was seeing right, but I glimpsed a huge, white snake above me, its massive body coiled round and round the thick trunk of the Angel Oak. It was Damballah Wedo, one of the oldest Loa, a source of life itself.

  I felt the Loas’ power tingle down the bark of the huge old tree, and sensed the awareness that was the Angel Oak connected with the ancient and powerful beings that had taken rest in its branches. My touch magic saw it all in images, not words, but I knew the tree and its guests had come to an agreement.

  The Angel Oak began to glow, as if millions of fireflies alighted on every inch of its huge, twisting branches and its thousands of leaves. Standing beneath its gigantic canopy, hands on its rough trunk, I could feel the thrum of old power, as sure and steady as a river’s course. I willed myself into that flow, committing my magic to it, drawing it up through me heedless of the cost, knowing that such power was not made for mortals to wield.

  I thought of all the blood that soaked the ground beneath the Angel Oak. Our blood. Nephilim and Watcher blood. Legends say blood does strange things to trees. Now, that ancient tree was waking up.

  Teag felt it too, and so did Lucinda. I could see them rally, see the surge of magic fill them with new energy. The Watchers weren’t of this world. They couldn’t draw on that power. But we could.

  Teag snapped his whip blade, and the silver-edged razor sang through the air, slicing through Watcher Four’s back and laying open his ribs. He got the fallen angel on the blade’s recoil as well, slicing through the muscles and tendons that would have held the wings if the Watcher transformed. His opponent gave a feral cry and turned on Teag, just in time for the long razor-sharp blade to snake across the attacker’s perfect face, cutting into the cheek, blinding him in one eye and taking off half his nose.

  I heard a crunching, crackling noise and yelped as the ground beneath my feet trembled. The Angel Oak’s roots rippled beneath the dirt, then tough tendrils burst from the hard-packed ground, and wrapped themselves around Watcher Four’s feet.

  Teag had his fighting net, and he used it to snare the Watcher’s grasping hands as his urumi went for the legs. The flexible blade snapped around the fallen angel’s ankles, and hamstrung him in a spray of blood. In the next heartbeat, Teag’s sword took Watcher Four’s head right off his shoulders. Another one bites the dust…

  I raised my walking stick and pointed it at Watcher Two, who was still standing despite everything Daniel and Father Anne threw at him. I thought about Helen Butler and Edwin Thompson, about the nurses at Palmetto Meadows and the old ladies who took such joy from Baxter’s visits. I thought about how horribly they died, trapped in flames and smoke, because of Sariel. I took all my regret and remorse over not being able to save them, and turned it into molten hot vengeance. Then I willed the power of the Angel Oak and
its unearthly visitors to channel through me, through my walking stick. Maybe it would kill me. Maybe not. But I would be avenged.

  A torrent of flames burst from the tip of the old walking stick. I felt the power sweep up from the roots and down through the trunk, heard the hiss of Damballah Wedo and the soft lilt of Gran Bwa, felt the presence that was the Angel Oak and let it all flow through me, growing hot in my rage and sorrow, and felt it explode through the walking stick.

  The fire didn’t just hit Watcher Two. It incinerated him.

  Chuck was covered with blood. Some of it was his own. Most of it, I hoped, was from the fallen angels he had blown to bits. Now, he leveled his shotgun with the odd wires at Watcher One on the other side of the Angel Oak, the one who had eluded the roots that grasped for his feet and ankles and was streaking toward Lucinda faster than Daniel Hunter could intercept.

  The shotgun barked and something streaked out of it. Instead of a bullet, what hit Watcher One made him light up like a Christmas tree, waves of blue electricity running up and down his body. It only lasted a few seconds. That’s all it needed. He collapsed to his knees from a dose of high voltage electricity that would have fried a mere mortal.

  “I am so done with this shit.” Daniel Hunter was holding something that looked like a cricket bat studded with obsidian blades. A maquahuitl, the weapon ancient Aztecs used when they were severely pissed at someone. He swung the maquahuitl with all his might, and it took the Watcher One’s head right off his neck, smashing in one side of it for good measure. The severed head stuck to the blades, as if Daniel were batting a gory home run. The fallen angel’s body collapsed to the blood-soaked ground.

  Sorren, Lucinda, and Caliel still battled Sariel, while Donnelly made sure the fifth Watcher didn’t come through the portal. Sorren had a sword in each hand, bloodied to the elbows and spattered with gore. His shirt and jeans were soaked with his own blood from deep gashes. Sariel had Marinette’s strength to bolster him, and I wondered if the Loa was the only reason the nephilmancer was still on his feet.The Angel Oak’s roots twined around his ankles, as if the old tree knew it was Sariel who had lit the bonfire. Sariel was bleeding heavily from deep gashes on his arms and thighs, and the belly wound alone would have put a regular fighter on the ground. Mad resistance glittered in Sariel’s eyes, and I knew neither he nor Sorren would yield short of destruction.