We didn’t have that kind of time.
I grabbed the chakram from the ground and made a Hail Mary throw, aiming at Sariel. The razor disk missed his neck but lodged in his shoulder. It was the distraction Sorren needed. One sword split the nephilmancer from shoulder to hip, while the other severed his head, just for good measure. Sariel wasn’t getting back up from that, even with a Loa possessing him.
Marinette’s spirit shrieked in rage as Sariel’s body failed. She tore loose from the corpse, rising like a destroying angel above the blood-soaked ground. Lucinda blasted her with the green-lit power of her staff, and Caliel struck with his blessed swords, but the malicious Loa wheeled on them, a frenzy of teeth and claws.
The Angel Oak was still against my back, and my hands gripped its rough bark. I listened to the images that my touch magic unlocked, and I knew that the Angel Oak was not happy at having its long slumber disturbed. It despised the death and blood; it feared the fire.
The reading I got from the Loas was different. Lucinda’s power had called them, and they came, observing before they decided whether or not to intervene. Marinette’s involvement troubled them, but I feared they would see the struggle as mortal business, and thus beneath their interest to intervene.
If I could sense the tree’s perceptions because I was touching the Angel Oak, maybe the tree and the Loas could hear me, too. I tightened my grip on the tree and opened my mind to the Oak, feeding it images more than words. The stairway disappearances. Reapers. So many deaths. Sariel’s desire for vengeance – and what he intended for Charleston. The information passed out of me at a breathtaking speed, and I felt drained when it ended, but I had the definite feeling that I had been heard.
We can’t defeat Marinette by ourselves. Please, please help, I begged.
I felt the ancient power of Gran Bwa and Damballah Wedo rouse. Marinette Bois Sech was one of their own, and she had overstepped.
Gran Bwa’s spirit sank into the Angel Oak, and the branches shook as the tree’s limbs began to move. One huge limb lay on the ground. Now, animated by the Loa, it swept the bonfire aside, scattering the brands and obliterating Sariel’s warded circle. Abruptly, the portal winked shut, trapping the fifth Watcher in the Netherworld where he belonged.
The spirit of Damballah Wedo, the great white snake, slipped down the Angel Oak’s many branches, spreading out over the limbs and twigs, out into the leaves. The breeze stirred and the Angel Oak bent as if from a hurricane’s force. As its limbs came close to where Marinette’s spirit raged, I saw the snake’s thick coils reach out from among the leaves and wrap themselves around Marinette like an anaconda. Marinette bucked and fought, but Damballah Wedo was stronger. When the snake engulfed Marinette, the vision blinked out, and so did the presence of the Loas.
The Angel Oak looked as it always did. The glow had faded, the limbs and branches were in the positions they had held for centuries, roots beneath the soil once more. Beautiful and ancient, nothing suggested that it had been a participant in a battle for the soul of the Holy City.
Caliel and Lucinda stood at the base of the Angel Oak where the offerings lay, thanking Gran Bwa and Damballah Wedo for their help. Father Anne, Chuck, and Daniel limped around stomping out embers and kicking dirt over the burning remains of the bonfire. Donnelly remained staring warily at the empty space where the portal had been. Only now did he lower his churchwarden’s pipe athame, sure that the threat was over.
The bodies of the Watchers vanished, returning to the Netherworld. That left Sariel’s remains. When Marinette’s spirit left him, the true extent of the damage was apparent. Sariel looked as if he had aged decades, and his body was nearly as dried-out and bony as Marinette’s. Sorren retrieved Sariel’s severed head, then picked up the body. He looked at Father Anne and Lucinda. “This time, I need to be sure he doesn’t come back,” he said. They nodded, and left with him toward the dark trees at the back of the park.
Daniel and Chuck scoured the grounds to gather up weapons, spent shells and any other evidence of our work. Except for the scorch mark where the bonfire had been, and the torn-out metal parking sign, our battle left few physical traces. The offerings beneath the tree stayed. There was no harm in leaving them as tribute.
Mrs. Teller and Niella joined us once they were certain the fighting was over. I didn’t blame them. Mrs. Teller was up in years, and Niella wasn’t a trained fighter. Still, that hardly meant they were defenseless, and I had seen Mrs. Teller hold her own in more than one tough situation.
“Wow,” Niella said, surveying the scene. “That was really something.”
“We knew we couldn’t help with the fighting, so we did what we do,” Mrs. Teller chimed in. “We found a doorway and set a protection spell over all of you, against the forces of darkness.”
“I’d say it worked,” I replied. I had been in enough battles to know that the smallest things can affect the outcome, one way or another. We had squeaked out a victory, and it had taken all of us to do it.
Niella gave me an appraising look. “Girl, we need to get all of you back home where we can doctor you up before those cuts go sour. You look like a hundred miles of bad road.”
Her comment reminded me of how many places on my body hurt like hell. Bo’s ghost lingered next to me, making sure I was all right. Out of old habit, my left hand reached for his head to ruffle his golden fur and tousle those soft ears. Though my hand slipped right through his apparition, Bo gave me that goofy grin I loved and desperately missed and then, vanished.
We had saved the city, prevented tens of thousands of deaths, and no one would ever know.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a beer, a shower and a pint of blood, not necessarily in that order,” I quipped tiredly. Then I sobered quickly as I got a look at Teag.
Teag limped toward me. He had been gashed across the chest and left shoulder, and his shirt was soaked with blood. A deep cut slashed one thigh as well. He was dangerously pale, and swayed on his feet. I ran to him just as his eyes rolled back in his head as he dropped to the ground like a rock.
“Archie! Over here!” Sorren appeared next to Teag in a blur. He dropped to his knees next to Teag and pressed his bloody arm against Teag’s lips, forcing some of the fluid into Teag’s mouth though it looked like Sorren had little blood to spare. “He’s fading.” Donnelly hurried over and knelt on the other side.
“Hold onto him,” Sorren commanded, withdrawing his arm. “I can’t give him enough blood to heal him. I’ll have a doctor waiting for us.”
“I don’t have any supplies –” I started.
“Leave that to me,” Donnelly said. He laid his hand over Teag’s forehead and spoke a few words of power. That’s when it hit me. Teag was dying. Sorren wanted Donnelly to bind soul to body long enough for us to try to save him.
SORREN’S PRIVATE DOCTOR, Dr. Zeigler, met us at my house.
“There are enough supplies in the dining room for a hospital,” Maggie said when we arrived. “A man named Higgins brought them by not long ago.” I glanced into the dining room and saw sufficient medical supplies for a mobile surgical unit. “I’ve got hot tea ready, chicken soup and my grandmother’s homemade poultice,” she added, bustling around the kitchen despite her crutches. Mrs. Teller and Niella went to help, since they had managed to escape the battle unscathed.
“Let mama add some of her powders to that poultice,” Niella suggested. “It’ll cure that demon claw taint.” All of us had deep cuts from the Nephilim and Watchers. Those wounds would turn bad quickly if they weren’t tended, and it seemed a waste to survive the battle only to die of blood poisoning. Dr. Zeigler conferred with Mrs. Teller, debating what ingredients to add to the poultice. After a few minutes of discussion, they came to an agreement, and Mrs. Teller adjusted the mixture, working it into a green paste with an odd botanical smell.
Donnelly carried Teag into the living room, and the rest of us limped behind him. Maggie must have had an inkling of what we were going to be in for,
because she had thrown plastic tarps and bed sheets over the couches, to keep the blood off the upholstery.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” I said, as Dr. Zeigler went to work on Teag. I didn’t like how pale he looked or how shallowly he was breathing. Donnelly remained at one end of the couch, his hand never leaving Teag’s forehead.
Maggie took one look at Teag, blanched, and then regained her presence of mind, guiding me to a chair before I fell over. “Sit,” she commanded. “Before you do more damage to yourself.”
Sorren’s injuries would have killed a mortal. I could see from his face that he was in pain. He was already healing, but that meant he needed to feed. Sometimes, in an emergency, he fed from Teag, but tonight Teag was not in any shape to spare the blood. Caliel had taken only light damage, so he offered his arm to Sorren, whose pallor improved after a few swallows.
Our ‘knife-proof’ shirts had deflected some injuries, but they were never meant to stand up to the kind of fighting we had done. Taint from the claws wouldn’t hurt Sorren because his ability to heal was supernatural, but the rest of us mortals needed serious patching up. Mrs. Teller fell in naturally beside Dr. Zeigler, adding her magic to his medical skills as they cleaned and treated Teag’s wounds, some of which needed stitches and butterfly bandages in addition to magic. Higgins’s supplies included IV packs, fluids, and pints of blood. Dr. Zeigler checked for a compatible blood type and got Teag hooked up.
A bad bruise purpled Teag’s cheek, and one eye was swollen almost shut. He had a split lip, and enough cuts on his arms and shoulders that it looked like he had gone through the windshield of a car. I wondered how I would ever explain his condition to Anthony, and knew that if Dr. Zeigler and Donnelly couldn’t save him, I would never be able to face Anthony again.
We all sat in silence, watching them work, fingering charms or murmuring prayers under our breath. Blood and tears mingled on my cheeks, and Baxter laid a tentative paw on my leg, offering comfort. I swept him into my lap, tears wetting his silky fur.
Finally, Dr. Zeigler stood. “He’ll live,” he said, with a nod toward Donnelly. Donnelly looked haggard and bleary-eyed, as though the strain of sustaining Teag’s life had taxed his already hard-used reserves.
“He’s not going to be a happy camper for a few days,” Dr. Zeigler observed, peeling away what remained of Teag’s blood-soaked shirt. “But the poultice should reduce the fever, and the cuts should heal cleanly, especially with the blood Sorren was able to give him. The injuries would be bad enough if the damage wasn’t supernatural, but the dark magic makes it worse.” He rose. “He needs to rest for a few days, and that means in bed with no activity. I don’t want anything putting a strain on his system or pulling at those stitches.”
Teag’s color had already improved, and his breathing was steady. Now that he was out of danger, I realized just how awful I felt. “So,” Dr. Zeigler said, “let me take a look at your shoulder.”
I didn’t argue. It felt as if the work of the evening had come crashing down on me all at once, and now that the adrenaline of the fight had faded, I was bone-weary and ached all over. I glanced around at my comrades in arms. Daniel Hunter stood by himself watching out the window, and although he was bloodied like the rest of us, he refused Dr. Zeigler’s treatment. I had already figured out that Hunter was something more than mortal. Chuck put up with being stitched and bandaged with the reserve of an old soldier. Lucinda’s injuries were minimal, since she had been largely out of the hand-to-hand combat. She looked utterly spent from the magic she had channeled, and dug ravenously into the food Maggie set out. We were too tired to eat, and too spent not to replenish ourselves. Everyone hailed Maggie’s cooking, and she beamed. Donnelly found a chair on the other side of the room and sat down, then leaned back and fell asleep almost immediately.
“Father Anne,” Sorren said in a voice that was strained but resolute. “Fill us in on what happened at Bloody Bridge.”
Father Anne’s short dark hair was bloody on one side from a scalp wound and she had stitches from deep cuts on both arms. “We got to the battle site before dark,” she said, “and stayed low until the park closed. Caliel set wardings while Mrs. Teller and Niella had powders and charms to drive the Reapers toward where Archie would be waiting for them,” she nodded toward Donnelly.
As Father Anne talked, Mrs. Teller and Niella made their way around the room with Dr. Zeigler, helping to cleanse and bind up our injuries, adding a touch of magic to the medicine. Neither of the root workers looked injured, though they, too appeared spent from the energy invested in their magic.
“Archie warned the ghosts not to rise at sunset. Most of the ghosts heard him, but some either didn’t hear or didn’t understand.” Father Anne shook her head. “As soon as they rose, the Reapers were on them. And then we were on the Reapers. I think there’s something in the Reapers’ magic that forces the ghosts from cover, because the ones we saw were trying to get clear or struggling to stay out of the way. The Reapers shredded any ghosts they got close enough to touch.”
“My charms and wardings worked with the ones Mrs. Teller and Niella set, to steer the Reapers right to Colonel Donnelly,” Caliel added. “And just to be sure, I set out an offering to Ghede Nibo. He’s the patron Loa of war dead and watcher of cemeteries, and he’s got no patience for anything that harms the souls in his territory.”
“We herded the Reapers toward Archie, and let him use his necromancy to send the Reapers back where they came from,” Father Anne picked up the tale. “Meanwhile, Caliel and I did our best to get the ghosts of the battle dead to cross over. Most of them were ready to go. That meant there was nothing for the Reapers to draw energy from, so Archie made quick work of them.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘quick work’,” Donnelly protested from where he sat, not even opening his eyes. “Though I have to say that I appreciated the help from Ghede Nibo. I think it’s fair to say that the Reapers didn’t expect a necromancer or a Ghede.” He smiled tiredly. “Then we closed down that party and came over to bail you out.”
I knew his comment was a friendly jab at Sorren, but tonight that had been exactly what happened. Without the help Donnelly and the others had provided in the last part of the fight at the Angel Oak, I was pretty sure we would have lost several lives, even if we had been able to defeat Sariel.
Pounding on my door made us all jump. Chuck and Daniel both moved toward the entrance, ready for a fight. Maggie shooed them back and peered out the window. “It’s Anthony,” she said worriedly, and I nodded for her to open the door.
“Where’s Teag?” Anthony said, bursting into my front hall. “Something’s happened. I know it. Where is he?”
Before I could get to my feet to escort him in, Anthony glimpsed Teag lying on the couch. Teag’s eyes were closed, and Dr. Zeigler had hooked up an IV for fluids and a blood transfusion. Anthony’s eyes widened, and he stormed into the living room.
“My God! What the hell? He needs to be in the hospital!” Anthony looked ready to plow his way through us if need be to make that happen. Dr. Zeigler stepped in front of him, and Anthony stopped dead in his tracks.
“Let me through,” Anthony said levelly.
“He can’t go to the hospital.”
“Because you don’t want to answer questions from the police?” Anthony challenged.
“Because those wounds are supernatural,” Dr. Zeigler countered. “If he’s not within strong wardings, they’ll attract supernatural predators, and Teag’s too weak to fight them off.”
“Then ward the hospital.”
“Not possible,” Lucinda snapped. “Too big, too many people, too much going on. Lots worse things in a hospital besides germs. Things that feed on blood and death. Supernatural parasites, scavengers. He’s protected here.”
“Protected?” Anthony echoed. “Look at him! You call that protected?”
“That’s enough.” Sorren stepped forward. He did not raise his voice, and he did not use glamouring or compulsi
on. He didn’t need to. When a nearly six-hundred year old vampire wants your attention, he has the presence to make people listen.
“Teag is out of danger,” Sorren said. “And within these wards, he is safe. I will not allow you to put him at risk, and I think you want what is best for Teag…”
Sorren took the wind out of Anthony’s sails. Just like that, his bluster crumbled, and he looked worried and frightened enough to throw up. “I got home early and found a notarized power of attorney and Teag’s will on the kitchen table,” Anthony said unsteadily. “With a note that said things might go badly tonight. I went to the store but no one was there. I called the hospitals. Nothing. So I came here. And… oh my God,” he said again, as if seeing the rest of us for the first time.
We were all covered in blood, clothing shredded, some of us with stitches and others with the faint pink scars of magically-healed lacerations. Sorren looked much better than he had when we left the Angel Oak, but his wounds hadn’t fully healed yet, and he looked more like a casualty than a victor. “You look like you’ve been to war,” Anthony said quietly.
I met his gaze. “We have been. The creatures we pushed back tonight intended to destroy us and the whole city – and they probably wouldn’t have stopped there.”
“The whole city?” Anthony echoed, looking as if his world had come unmoored.
“Probably most of the South, like they did the last time, back in 1854,” Sorren replied. He was tired enough that he made no attempt to hide his fangs, and I saw awareness dawn on Anthony as he glimpsed the points of Sorren’s eye teeth.
Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) Page 37
