by Jen Kirchner
“I left my phone in the car. Where’s yours?”
My stomach did a backflip. “In the car.”
Brad grabbed my wrist again. “Run!”
EIGHT
The scan followed us into the alley and started shutting off the service lights behind us. Brad and I could barely stay ahead of it. After we ran past the loading docks and the door that had locked us out, there weren’t many hiding spots. Two more dumpsters and an old, silver Volvo were all that was left before we were out in the open.
We could hear Luucas Mikkelson’s fight just ahead, and we could see dim flashes of spells in that direction. According to Death Radar, Luucas was down to his last opponent, but the fight sounded nasty. I didn’t want to run through and get caught in the crossfire. Breathless, we ducked between the last dumpster and the fence.
My heart was pounding and I was trying to pant quietly. Brad gave the chain-link fence an uneasy glance. The top was wrapped in barbed wire. He slipped off his jacket. “Up.”
Brad looked up again, arm poised to toss his jacket onto the wire. He bent his arm back to throw—
A heavy slam echoed across the pavement, causing both of us to jump. It sounded exactly like the service door that had locked us out a few minutes ago. Brad whipped around, arm still raised. I grabbed it and pulled him into a crouch. Brad took my hand, sharing my necromancer sight, and we peeked out from behind the dumpster.
I didn’t see anyone in the alley. Across from us, there were no loading docks, just a closed metal door. Next to the door, a group of discarded boxes had been piled up, waiting to be disassembled. The Volvo was parked on the left, blocking our view, but I could see the scan coming up behind it as the wall of pitch towered high overhead. It was almost upon us.
The scan passed a recycling bin and came forward, its corner permeating the stack of cardboard boxes, then swept through the stack and stopped. It backed up, scanning the boxes a second time. It stopped again. The black wall crackled and wavered and the scan dissolved entirely. Every light in the alley snapped back on. The two immortals following the scan stepped into view.
The first one was a tall, black male with a deep scar that ran from his forehead to his jaw. The fuzzy shield surrounding him prevented me from gathering his name. Everything else about him seemed normal to me, from his short, black hair down to his sneakers, except that he had a strange medallion dangling from his neck. When I looked directly at it, I felt sick.
His companion, whose voodoo shield had run out, was Hamilton Edwards. He was short, white, and bald, with a tattoo on his neck. I couldn’t make out the design. Most of it was concealed under the collar of his green shirt. He had an earring that looked like a long tooth, probably to make up for the one his mouth was missing.
The one with the scar seemed to be in charge. His accent was strong and sharp.
“Come out!”
The boxes rustled, a clumsy tapping echoed across the pavement, and a human woman climbed out. She looked out of place in stilettos, miniskirt, and tailored, red suede jacket. Everything she wore was designer-made. This girl made Pasha’s fashion selections look cheap in comparison.
“Where’s my money?” she demanded.
Scar shifted irritably. “Once we have him, you will receive it.”
“That wasn’t the deal.” She jammed a thumb in the direction of the ongoing fight. “You asked me to deliver and I did. It’s not my fault you brought the wrong people for the job.”
“If we cannot subdue Luucas—”
She laughed a short, shrill sound. “You can’t, but that’s not my problem.”
The long pause in the conversation felt tense, even from our hiding spot behind the smelly dumpster. Scar leaned dangerously close to the woman. His voice was a thin, breathless whisper that slipped across the pavement, barely heard. “If we cannot subdue him, your assistance will be required.”
The woman didn't immediately respond, as if that was something she dreaded. “And then?”
Another comment followed, but I missed it. I was too busy paying attention to the dead body that sailed through the air, smacked down on the asphalt, and rolled right past the dumpster.
Brad jumped and almost gave away our hiding spot. The woman squeaked and slapped her hand over her mouth. She disappeared back behind the boxes. The voodoo masters turned around.
When the corpse stopped moving, its arms and legs were contorted violently and its face was frozen in an agonized, open-mouthed stare. Smoke poured from the smoldering corpse, filling up the alley. I didn’t need my necromancer abilities to tell me how the guy died: his neck had been snapped and cranked around and then his body had been cooked at a million degrees. As a necromancer, I wasn’t usually freaked out by corpses, but this one was worthy of my horror. Whatever Luucas Son of Mikkel had done, he had done it thoroughly.
The two voodoo masters stared hard at the body, eyes narrowed and focused. Death Radar blipped at me. Luucas was moving in our direction.
That part of the alley was too dark for me to see, though it wasn’t for the immortals. They spread out and took a ready stance, legs apart, slightly bent at the knees. Scar reached behind him and drew out a long, silver dagger with something burned onto the blade. If they were spell runes, they were unlike any I had seen before. Scar’s partner, Baldy, produced a smooth, painted rock. My eyes watered as soon as it was removed from his pocket. I wasn’t sure which I liked less, the knife or the rock. After what happened at dinner, I had developed a deep hatred for rocks.
Luucas stopped on the opposite side of our dumpster. Scar’s jaw stiffened and he flexed his shoulders threateningly. Baldy’s eyes darted around the area as if looking for an exit. He actually stepped back, but a nasty glance from Scar prompted him to return to his original position.
A light flapping sound preceded Luucas’s appearance. He stepped into view, past the edge of the dumpster, and stopped. So did the sound of his loose sole.
Brad and I exchanged a look. Luucas Son of Mikkel was not what we had expected. His blue jeans had been washed so many times they were white. A hole was forming in one of the thighs and the legs were frayed at both ankles. They were also way too short for his tall, lanky frame, not even touching the tops of his worn sneakers. The shoes looked totally blown out and the flapping sole looked ready to come off. His t-shirt and jacket had seen better days and were faded and stained. He looked like no immortal I had ever seen, completely broke and down on his luck. He looked homeless.
He jerked his head, trying to shake his shaggy, unkempt mess of blond hair away from his eyes. He pointed at the corpse.
“Is that yours?”
Baldy scowled and bared his teeth. “Where’s the dagger? Tell us and we’ll let you live.”
Luucas didn’t move. “Where’s Ruairí O'Bryne? Tell me and I’ll let you live.”
Scar flexed his shoulders and stretched his neck slowly, rolling his head from side to side, warming up for a fight. “Enough of this talking. Your corpse will tell us.”
“Your craft has no effect on me or my corpse. Ruairí should have told you before he sent you here.”
Scar extended the dagger toward Luucas, sending a wave of nausea over me. “That is why you must die.”
Baldy started shouting. A gentle wave pulsed against me and fiery orange spell script spread in the air. I touched Brad’s hand so he could see. As the spell script grew, I could see its target was Luucas, though I didn’t know what the spell was supposed to do. “Siphi unvere…”
Luucas lunged forward. Instead of going for Baldy, who was casting the spell, he went for Scar. He had a quickness that surprised me and his opponents. Immortal density was usually an impediment to their speed, but Luucas had clearly worked hard to overcome it.
Scar backed up fast. He was concentrating more on keeping his distance and slashed half-heartedly at Luucas. The orange spell script was almost complete.
“…nuva saviri.”
Luucas’s hand clamped down on Scar’s wrist and je
rked. The immortal stumbled forward and Luucas swung him around, flinging him in front of the incoming spell. A loud crack split the air and a shower of sparks slammed into Scar’s side. He howled in pain. Luucas released him and sent him sprawling across the asphalt.
Baldy cursed loudly and started chanting again. New orange script appeared in the air. Luucas took a running leap in Baldy’s direction. The immortal’s hands went up and his words came out in an unintelligible rush. Before the spell could finish, Luucas slammed a solid fist against his jaw. I heard the crunch and felt sympathy pain in my face. Baldy’s head snapped back and the spell script dissipated. Luucas slapped the rock out of his hand and I heard it hit the ground and roll away. Baldy kicked out, going for the groin, but Luucas stepped neatly to the side and used the opportunity to shove him sideways into the car.
As Baldy stumbled away, Luucas grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Luucas growled a command. Fiery runes flashed overhead. I had never seen a third-channel spell form so quickly.
A reddish glow spread across Baldy’s body and he went painfully rigid. His eyes bulged. Luucas’s hands made a series of complicated jerks on his shoulders and neck. Luucas grabbed the immortal’s head in both hands and twisted. I heard a sickening crunch. Brad slapped a hand over my mouth and we watched Baldy’s lifeless body sink, as if in slow motion, to the ground.
By now, Scar had regained consciousness and climbed to his feet. Scratches covered one side of his face and the deeper gashes had filled with black blood. The blade in his hand gleamed in the yellow light of the service lamps.
Luucas’s small, blue eyes glimmered through the shag of bangs hanging over his face.
“Tell me where Ruairí O'Bryne is hiding.”
No answer. A spell pulsed against me and blue runes stretched out overhead. Luucas couldn’t see the runes, but the lack of verbal response made the second channel spell all too obvious. He prepared his own retaliatory spell. Though Luucas’s completed first, it lingered for half a second.
As soon as the blue runes finished forming, Luucas’s spell winked out. A white-hot flash of light bloomed suddenly, filling the alley. Scar screamed. The spell wasn’t meant to destroy anything; it was an assault against ultra-sensitive immortal eyes.
When the light subsided, I saw Luucas had shielded his eyes. His opponent had not expected the searing light and was now bent double, pressing one hand over his face.
Luucas ran to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt. Scar waved blindly with the knife, but Luucas slapped it out of his hand. The knife clattered away and bounced off the brick wall.
Luucas leaned in close and began to speak quietly. Scar said nothing and fixed his bloodshot eyes on the knife lying on the pavement. Luucas shook him. The question was repeated, louder. I heard it this time. “Where’s Ruairí hiding?”
Scar’s eyes flickered back to Luucas and the corner of his mouth lifted in a deranged grin. He said nothing.
Luucas shoved Scar hard, sending the beaten immortal sprawling back to the pavement. He took a couple of steps backward. Orange runes flickered in the air above his head. This fight was over, with Luucas the clear victor.
The cardboard boxes behind him rustled. The top one tumbled down onto the pavement and landed with a thud. Luucas turned around, ready to attack. But he didn’t. The blonde woman stepped out. She scowled at him.
“Hello, Luucas.”
The orange runes faded. Luucas’s lips pursed and his hands fell limply at his sides. His back was facing us, so I couldn’t see his expression, but he was frozen still like a deer in the headlights.
On the ground, Scar stirred. His head lifted, eyes locked on the discarded dagger. Luucas didn’t seem to notice, not even when Scar scrambled across the pavement and grabbed the weapon.
Scar leapt to his feet and charged. The dagger drove deep into Luucas’s back, all the way to the hilt. Luucas cried out. I wanted to scream with him. Luucas twisted and writhed, trying to grab the handle protruding from his body. Dark blood soaked the back of his jacket.
The knife came alive. A spell surged from it, warping the air around him like heat waves from hot asphalt. Black and green specks swirled around the hilt and spread over Luucas’s body like a parasite. A surge of raw energy swelled, sick with the taint of voodoo.
Luucas fell to his knees. I realized the spell was trying to replicate a necromancer sacrifice by trying to take Luucas's life—yet somehow he was resisting. The energy swelled again and again, making desperate attempts to kill, then waned, unsuccessful.
Under the woman’s unemotional gaze, Luucas slumped to his side, onto the pavement. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving, either. More dark blood oozed around the blade and began to pool onto the pavement.
The woman approached Luucas and the voodoo master tentatively, keeping a safe distance from the black blood.
“Well?” she demanded, holding out her hand. “You said I needed to help, and I did. Now give me my money.”
“He is not dead.”
“Not my problem.”
I was hardly paying attention to them. I was staring at Luucas. Tears ran down my face and over Brad’s hand, which was still clamped over my mouth. I wished I hadn’t broken my bracelet. If my dad were linked to me, none of this would be happening. I felt like a fool crouched behind a stinky dumpster, completely unable to help. I bet Mikelis never found himself in this situation. If I were like Mikelis, everyone would just run away from me and I’d never have to wear a stupid telepathic link.
Then it hit me—I could pretend I was Mikelis! As long as I stayed back behind the dumpster, they’d never know the difference.
Scar stood over Luucas and removed the knife without delicacy. He looked as if he was going to make a second stabbing attempt.
I pulled Brad’s hand away from my mouth, pointed my finger at the ground, cut a large circle out of the supernatural plane, and rolled it. Brad swayed slightly. Scar stumbled away from Luucas and collided into the woman. She screamed as she went down.
I pointed at the two corpses lying on the ground, using one hand for each. I felt a small tug on my wrists, then a light static current up my arms, causing all the hairs to stand up. A cold energy connected us and my consciousness filled their lifeless minds. The foreign contact made me shiver. I was really out of practice at controlling corpses. The last time I had done it I was a kid. Dad had me practice with small roadkill.
I willed them to stand upright and watched them climb to their feet like rusty robots. Their eyes were blank and stared without blinking, and their heads were cocked awkwardly from broken necks.
I mentally commanded them to fix their necks. Hands mechanically reached for their heads and jerked them straight with loud, nauseating pops.
The girl and the voodoo master turned around so quickly the girl lost her balance. I took advantage of that and flipped the supernatural plane again. She fell on top of the voodoo master and they hit the ground hard.
And then I did something really gross. I jacked up the corpses’ internal temperatures and cooked their insides. The skin on their faces started to shrivel, but the rest of their bodies swelled and bulged, barely contained by their clothes. I grabbed Brad and pulled him further behind the dumpster.
“Hold your breath,” I whispered, and gulped in a breath of my own.
The bodies exploded like the thunder of cannon fire. Flaming corpse bits launched in every direction and peppered the sides of the dumpster like bullets. The horrific smell was like nothing I had ever experienced. Brad convulsed twice and buried his face in his sleeve.
I could feel other spells pulsing nearby—innocuous ones like the kind around my house. I pulled them all into the alley and made them visible. Spell scripts filled the air and writhed like snakes. With a simple gesture, I deactivated them, turning every rune black. The woman screamed. Smoke started to coil around me. I could only hope no one was paying attention to the dumpster and the smoke pouring out from behind it.
“It’s him!”
Scar whispered.
There were still two corpses down the alley where Luucas had been fighting earlier. I took control of those bodies and ran them toward us. Scar and the woman scrambled to their feet and started backing up fast.
I raised the corpses’ arms in a threatening caricature. Scar and the woman took off running and I sent the corpses after them. The woman was much harder for me to follow than the voodoo master since she was alive and I couldn’t track her with Death Radar. The best I could do was follow her screams. When they got to the street, I blew up the corpses.
As soon as Scar and the woman had disappeared from the alley, Brad ran to Luucas. He was casting spells as fast as he could, trying to complete them before Luucas’s blood reached him. A large pool of the black stuff had formed on the ground and a tentacle was snaking its way toward Brad’s shoe. Brad backed up and started casting again, but the diseased blood followed, looking for a new host. “Kari, do something!”
Blood was a very important part of necromancy, so I had a lot of power over it. I could use it to activate spells or dissolve it completely to erase the evidence of a necromancer at work. I gestured at the tentacle and it disappeared without a trace. I continued dismissing the blood in small batches until the bleeding had stopped and Luucas’s clothes were clean.
“Is he going to make it?” I asked.
Without stopping his spellcasting, Brad nodded. We endured a few more tense minutes, then Brad wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “He’s got some internal bleeding. One of his organs is damaged. It doesn’t function as it did when he was human, so I don’t know what it does or how to fix it. He’ll be okay, but we can’t move him until the bleeding stops.”
When he looked at me, I saw the unspoken demand in his eyes. Necromancers were able to repair their undead “zombies” remotely by commanding the body to self-repair. Unfortunately, I had never done it to anything bigger than a squirrel, and never on anything that might wake up and kill me before I could explain myself.
