I turned. Jason lay crumpled on the floor, eyes closed, white-faced, sweaty and shaking. Even though he was a demon—and a Dioguardi—I ran to him and checked his forehead. Cold as ice. I started to look for a blanket and his hand shot out, gripping my arm. His eyes opened, just barely. They were pure blue, and when he spoke, the words came out on a rasp.
“Go—they’ll come for me. You have to go.”
“I can’t leave you—not like this.”
His grip tightened. “You don’t understand. Demons—can sense other demons—when unshielded. The Rousseaux know what I did. If you don’t leave, they’ll trap you again.”
Eric said, “I am afraid he is right.”
I turned to him. “They can’t come now—they have to send the rock to Satan at sunset.”
Jason moved convulsively, and I turned to see him trying to sit up, eyes wide. “Fuck, Hyacinth—this has to do with Satan? Are you fucking nuts?”
“It’s a long story. We have to get you out of here and get to Colossae.”
He shook his head. “Leave me. I’m…drained. Get me near Satan, and I’m a goner.”
“Mon ange,” Eric interjected. “We must depart, with or without him.”
He was right, but every little bit of knowledge might help me. Telling myself one more minute would be okay, I said to Jason, “I won’t go until you tell me—what are you?”
The burst of anger had restored his color, and he no longer shook. I saw the struggle warring on his face before he accepted that, to make me leave, he’d have to give me an answer.
“I’m not a Demon—a full-blood—but I have demon blood in me. There’s more of us than you’d think, especially in the Dioguardis. The short version is that eight hundred years ago, a priest made a pact with Satan. In exchange for an infusion of demon blood, he would do certain things, force good people into committing heinous acts that would damn them to Hell.”
“Why?”
“Power. Wealth. His own evil army. But he made a mistake and used the blood all at once, and it spread unevenly among his children. Then their children received even less, and so on. It’s pretty diluted now, like a recessive gene that some of us get, and some of us don’t.”
My throat closed with dread. “Nick…?”
“No. He was a God-awful bastard. But that was all him, not demon blood.”
“How can you be sure? Couldn’t he have shielded himself, or whatever you call it?”
“It comes out, in spite of our efforts. You saw what happened on Malta. And here—it’s my fault the Rousseaux caught us. I lost control, and they sensed me. Also, it usually manifests in puberty—like pimples or your voice changing. There’s no hiding it, until you can shield.”
“But what if Nick was a late bloomer?”
“Never later than puberty.” He hesitated, glancing at the window, then back at me. “In extremely rare cases, the blood is so strong, it shows up in infancy, in which case another demon has to shield the baby until it’s older. But that wasn’t the case with Nick.”
Thank God. At least Lily hadn’t married a demon.
Eric moved impatiently. “Mon ange, I know your desire to learn the truth. But if we hope to get to Colossae, we must leave now.”
“He’s right,” Jason said. “You have to get out of here.”
If I wasn’t sitting, I’d’ve fallen down from the shock. “You can hear him?”
“And see him. Since we pulled him out. I told you I had to unshield completely. Being here, with my shield down—it’s like an addict with a loaded needle. I had to open myself up to some of the Rousseaux’s power, in order to get him out.”
I stared, horrified. “You mean by helping me, you made yourself more a demon?”
He shrugged. “I don’t actually know what the long-term effects are. But yes, I took some of the powers the Rousseaux left behind and added them to my own. It’s…changed me.” He searched my face. “I’ve never met a human who could talk with ghosts. Usually, that’s only Demons—full-bloods, not partials.”
“Which is why you thought I was a demon.”
“Partly. Plus, I smelled Claude on you after you met him at the shop that first time, and I sensed him when you walked past my apartment. The higher the demon, the less they bother to shield. I had to wonder if Nick brought him around—or you did.”
Eric jerked back from the window. “Putain. We have to leave—your demon friends are not back, but they sent their helpers.”
I jumped up and ran to the balcony. Eric was right—two of the Rousseaux’s thugs were just disappearing into the house. There was another balcony below us, and below that, a three-meter drop to the ground. I heard feet pounding somewhere inside, getting closer by the second.
“Can you stand?” I asked Jason, and he pushed himself up.
“I’m fine.” He still looked a little shaky, but the time we’d spent talking had clearly helped him recover. “I can stand, and I can run.”
“Great,” I said. “How do you feel about jumping?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I will ransom them from the power of the grave;
I will redeem them from death.”
~The Bible, Hosea 13:14
Jason insisted on going over first, saying that since he was taller, he could help me. The drop to the balcony wasn’t too bad. The drop from there to the ground was worse, but Jason did manage to break my fall, staggering a little on impact, though from my weight or his own weakness, I wasn’t sure. I was still freaked out over the whole “open myself up to some of their power” thing he’d done. I didn’t want to question his abilities, human or otherwise, too closely.
Meanwhile, Eric simply floated over, the first time I’d seen him attempt anything like it. My impression was that whenever he did something “special” or “ghostly,” it required more energy than doing it the “normal” way. For instance, once he neared the ground, he let himself drop the rest of the way, and then proceeded to run alongside Jason and me as we headed across the yard to the back fence.
The gate was locked again, and there was another keypad on this side. “We’ll have to climb it,” Jason said. A wheelbarrow sat in front of a nearby shed. Jason dragged it to the wall while I glanced back at the house.
Incredibly, Claude’s goons hadn’t followed us over the balcony. Could they be running down through the house instead?
Jason saw the direction of my gaze and said, “They’re pets.” He climbed onto the wheelbarrow and made a stirrup out of his hands. “Demon pets. Mindless, loyal, good at following instructions. Not so good at thinking on their feet. Hurry—climb on.”
I stepped into his hands, and he lifted me up. With his height plus the wheelbarrow, I easily reached the top of the wall and grabbed on. “You mean they aren’t going to follow us?”
“Oh, they’ll follow. But it’ll take them awhile to figure it out. Either Claude underestimated you, or he didn’t have time to tell them what to do if they got here after we escaped. We have some leeway, but not much.”
He gave me a quick push and I flung my free leg over the wall, then dropped down on the other side. A moment later he followed suit, and I saw that Eric had either floated over or dematerialized through, and already waited for us.
The sunlight had dimmed considerably in the last several minutes. The “pets” might not be hot on our heels, but I didn’t have time to waste. I turned and ran down the alley, Jason and Eric close behind.
As we rounded the corner and neared the car, Jason panted, “Keys…?”
There was no way I’d hand them over—to a Dioguardi and a demon. He might have saved Eric and me, but he’d also lied, betrayed me, and kidnapped my nephew.
“I’ll drive,” I said and unlocked the doors.
“I know. I just wanted to make sure you still had them.” He turned to Eric. “Get her to Colossae—help her with whatever the hell she has to do.”
Fear clenched my gut. “You can’t leave us here!”
“Can, and
am. You don’t want me along on this—trust me. I just stole powers from High Demons, in their own home, for God’s sake, then shattered several of their best spells. I’m open to them—completely raw and vulnerable, no way to stop them from using me for whatever they want. Besides, they’ll know I’m coming from miles away.”
“Won’t they sense me—or Eric?”
“Not as fast. And—no offense—they won’t care. You’re hardly worth their notice. With their powers in me, I’m like a dog in heat. They know exactly where I am, right now, and what I’ve done enrages them. But unless I force myself on them, they’ll wait and deal with me later.”
Merde. What could I say to that? “But where will you go?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“You mean won’t.”
“Yep.” He turned back to Eric. “If you let the Rousseaux or Satan or anyone else hurt her, I’ll hunt you down and send you to Hell myself.”
Eric inclined his head. “And if you hurt her, I will do the same.”
“Agreed.”
A sudden certainty flooded through me, and I stared at Jason. “The Dioguardis—you contacted them the night Lily died. They’re the ones who cleaned up the scene.”
Jason gave one of his lopsided smiles. “Someone had to see that your sister got a decent burial. And Nick,” he added as an afterthought.
A lump rose in my throat. For all I cared, Nick’s body could rot in the morgue, while his soul rotted in Hell. But it had bothered me to think of Lily being manhandled by the cops. The Dioguardis might be mafia to the core, but they’d never leave their only grandson’s mother to lie in unconsecrated ground. At least, the non-demon ones wouldn’t.
“And Geordi’s passport?”
“Paolo came back and dropped it on the ground for me to find. He said he jogged past your car while you and Geordi were sitting in it outside the shop.”
“That was Paolo? Nick’s cousin? How the hell do you know him?”
Jason’s smile widened. “He’s my cousin, too.”
I stared, open-mouthed. “But…”
“Mon ange,” Eric cut in. “We do not have time—we must go.”
“One more question—I promise.” I faced Jason. “Why didn’t you take Geordi to the Dioguardis that night?”
Jason shook his head. “I’d like to tell you. Really, I would. But Eric is right. You don’t have time.” With surprising speed and strength, given his previous condition, he reached out and pulled me close. “I’m sorry for everything. Except this.”
He kissed me then, fast and hard, and just as fast, released me and ran off down the hill toward Denizli.
****
By the time Eric and I got to Colossae, the sun touched the horizon, and I still didn’t know where the ritual would occur. I parked the car on the side of the mound near the river and we got out. There were more trees than I remembered, and with the late afternoon shadows, everything looked different.
“Which way?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know.”
Oh, God, I really didn’t know. Think. I had to think.
Find the bend in the river—that was the first thing.
I put the water on my right, the mound on my left, facing roughly west. Michael had said to find the spot where the river poured into the sun. It didn’t look that way here, so I moved forward, stumbling over the uneven ground. It felt like forever but took only a few minutes before I rounded a bend and was blinded by the sun shining right in my eyes.
I turned and looked to the south. There, between two trees, I saw a lump on the side of the mound. A tumulus, like the underground graves at Hierapolis.
Of course. I just had to find the entrance, and the Rousseaux—with the rock—would be inside. They had to be, because I was out of ideas and time.
“This way,” I said to Eric, and hurried toward the hill.
Unbelievably, it was hotter now than at midday. The closer we got to the mound, the more the heat rolled over me, and by the time we reached it, I was sweaty and out of breath.
“Mon ange—you must rest a moment.”
“I can’t! I have to find the rock, before they send it to Satan.”
“Can you not sense it?”
“No—it’s blocked or something.” Oh, God. I fought down the nausea. “We’re too late—they’ve started. I’m going to lose him—I’m losing Geordi!”
Eric gripped my shoulders. “Non. You will not give up—tell me what to do.”
The order cut through my terror and I gasped in a breath. “Look for a hole, entrance, anything.”
He nodded, and we split up, him taking the eastern side, me the west. It was cooler here, and the farther I went, the cooler I got, even after I rounded the side into the lowering sun again.
It crawled below the horizon—I wouldn’t find the rock in time—Michael would take me away—Geordi—the Dioguardis would get him.
I would not let that happen.
I forced myself to pause, to breathe in the cool air. Tried again to sense the rock. Nothing. Eric said something from behind me, and I turned to face him, but he was too far away. I took several steps toward him and warm air washed over me, contrasting with the cool at my back.
Warm air.
Heat.
From the first, I’d noticed the heat rolling off the Rousseaux. The rock was warm, too. And Jason.
I broke into a run, faster and faster, moving east toward Eric. Hotter air filled my lungs—I let it guide me—past Eric, who stepped out of the way in surprise, then ran after me.
There. Barely large enough to squeeze through, hidden under a clump of grass, the opening to a narrow dirt tunnel.
Without stopping to think I dove in, worming my way into the earth, the heat almost unbearable. Eric dove in after me, but my focus was on whatever lay below. It was pitch black but there was noise up ahead, a rush of air that grew to a roar as I rounded a bend in the tunnel and it opened up, spilling me into the tumulus’ large inner chamber.
I stopped in the nick of time, jerking back into the shadows. Then I assessed the situation.
The chamber was large, maybe thirteen meters across, and domed at the top. Torches burned in wall sconces all around, giving off a fiery hellish light. Whatever corpse had occupied this place originally was long gone, but the room was far from bare. Lush new carpets covered the stone floor, with fancy furniture and ornamentation everywhere. I guess if you’re a High Demon, you might as well make yourself comfortable.
Speaking of demons, the Rousseaux stood facing the far wall of the tomb, oblivious to my presence—so far. No doubt they’d notice me eventually, but for now, they were thoroughly engrossed by something in front of them. Off to the side stood my old pals the chauffeur and the truck driver, as per usual, staring into space and awaiting their masters’ instructions.
The tunnel was wide enough for two at the entrance, so Eric squirmed in next to me just as Claude and Jacques stepped away from the wall, turned, and raised their arms toward something suspended mid-chamber, above the center of the floor.
The rock.
It floated, turning slowly, its pyramid inverted, the top pointing down. I looked below it, then sucked in a breath. Where the shadow of the rock struck a bare spot on the floor, a chink formed. It grew, then divided, then divided again, until a spiderweb of cracks split the floor, popping the rock slab, forming a jagged pentagon. Jacques raised his left hand and flicked his wrist, and the rock spun faster. The fissures vibrated, like a million twisting snakes, then the slab shook and dust choked me as part of the floor heaved and groaned and imploded downward.
Beside me, Eric blanched, and I swallowed back the bile. That sure looked like an opening to Hell—who knew how close the Rousseaux were to completing the ritual.
Not stopping to think about the consequences, I sent a thread out to the rock, trying to sense it, to tease one of its own threads back out. The Rousseaux had blocked it—I got nothing.
I turned to Eric. “Help me. Try to pull on th
e rock, the way we did at the Plutonium.”
He nodded and threw his thread in with mine, instantly making it stronger. We pushed together, toward the rock, testing, while I begged silently, Please, please, please let this work.
I was almost ready to give up when I felt the tiniest motion in the atmosphere, the smallest vibration. Thank God. But it wasn’t enough—whatever the Rousseaux had done was too powerful.
The hole had widened to two meters across, and broken, sharp boulders heaved all around it. The opening was so dark it went beyond an “absence of light,” the black a physical cloud rising from below. Then the bottom of the cloud began to glow, yellow, orange, then fiery red. The black cracked and split, the constant roar in the room rising to an ear-shattering crescendo.
Jacques lifted his hand higher, and something far-far below rumbled.
Desperately I closed my eyes, shutting out the terrifying scene. But like Vadim’s edict against cameras, now my mind could “see” what was happening.
At first, everything was a jumble of white-hot light and shadows, confused and chaotic. Then my thread and Eric’s, still twined, became more distinct, and I realized the rest of the energy came from the Rousseaux. It must be their “threads,” though it pulsed so strong and blinding that it was more a heavy cable, putting our combined tiny effort to shame.
I thought of Jason, of how he’d helped me pull Eric to safety. Use me, he’d said, and I’d grabbed his thread and added it to my own, just as I did now with Eric. What I hadn’t known then, but did now, was that Jason also had supplemented his powers—with the Rousseaux’s.
I didn’t have time to think—to process—to wonder if I could do this, or if I would survive it. In the fraction of a second between understanding and action, Eric realized my intent, and his hand shot out to my arm.
“You cannot—it is too dangerous!”
Too late. I pulled our threads close to the flaming light-void that was the Rousseaux’s energy, then grabbed a strand, intertwining it with ours until I had a rope of light. Not as big or strong as theirs, but much more robust than what I’d had before.
Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1) Page 25
