Come here, my friends, I am you, and you are me.
Immediately a rush of energy filled the space. A shimmering, flowing shadow formed on the landing below ours. There was a rustling of wings, a settling of robes. The angel from the art museum. Light flashed. Shrieks and howls mingled with the clatter of claws running on concrete and steel. Ian leapt at the bane.
Boons and banes filled the stairwell, in battle.
Even Pig Face couldn’t command the situation, at least not instantly. Ian reached him and slammed a fist into Dante’s face. The blow drove Dante’s body backwards. Boons pried at his arms. I slipped free of him then pulled Gigi out of his grip, while Ian continued to pummel the dark, bloodied face that snarled at him.
A roar came from that thing’s throat.
Pig Face lunged at us.
Boons suddenly blocked his way—as long as he was in Dante’s body he could not escape them easily. But he would take control in another minute. His banes were ripping at us, trying to reach past a shield the angel made, to tear us apart.
“Run back to the deck,” Charles shouted.
He dragged Gigi up the steps while Ian hoisted me over one shoulder and pulled Sarah after him.
We staggered out of the stairwell, back into the parking deck.
A late-model SUV roared toward us, but struck a smaller car and careened into a concrete pillar. Ian set me down and pointed. “To work, my love. That bane has to go.”
I took a quick breath as the oozing creature in the SUV slithered inside the driver’s seat of a large truck.
“I see you, be fucking gone,” I yelled hoarsely.
He burst into slimy bits.
But Sarah, Charles and Gigi were cornered on the other side of the crashed SUV, and more banes were heading their way.
I spread my arms and shouted, “Burn them all! ”
The entire deck filled with the vaporizing energy.
The angel floated toward Ian and me. Go now. You’ll have a short time before more banes arrive and the demon frees himself. This is your battle, soul catcher, and yours, soul hunter. I’ll escort the others to safety. She smiled. I’ll take them to the Woolworth pog.
“Thank you, Angel.”
I’m honored, Soul Catcher. You are now fully vested and have gained the wisdom necessary to follow your destiny, though your choices will never be easy. Now go.
“Don’t worry about Ian and me,” I yelled to Gigi, Sarah and Charles. “Go to Woolworth’s. The angel will help you get there, and the Woolworth pog will take care of you.”
They nodded and waved.
Ian and I ran to the gallery’s van.
We dodged the sudden whump of a giant bane’s fist as we dived into the front seats. I cranked the engine while banes beat against the windows. We peeled rubber onto a street.
No one but us saw the banes clinging to the van’s hood, or the sprays of inky fluid and flashes of light as they exploded at my command.
We careened up College Street and headed out of downtown, toward the river district and the safety of Sheba’s protection at the gallery.
17
We didn’t make it. Too many banes, too many detours to avoid ramming the Friday evening traffic, a constant battle. We ended up near my studio, not the gallery.
A huge, flying bane broadsided the van as I drove wildly down the weedy, deserted industrial lane beside the Swannanoa’s bank.
The van plunged down the embankment. A tree stopped it.
Ian reached under the van’s front seat and pulled out the pistol Charles always kept there. “Run for it, Livia. I’ll cover you. No arguments now. Do your banishin’ work, while I follow. That’s my job, you ken?”
We stumbled down the bank, with me yelling at banes on all sides. It was a war zone; the earth with concussions as they exploded.
“Watch out,” Ian yelled, pulling me aside as a bane ambushed us from behind a junked car. The bane slapped him with a clawed foot.
“Die, fucker,” I yelled, and it vanished. But it left a triple stripe of gashes across the left side of Ian’s jaw. We staggered to the river and slid into the water. Even though the Swannanoa is just a big creek, maybe twenty long steps across, I didn’t know how we’d make it through the waist-deep depths with a small army of banes after us.
Come to me, friends. I am you and you are me.
A huge, gray, snake-like boon rose from the river. An uktena.
The Swannanoa uktena coiled around Ian and me, lifted us, and carried us across the river. It set us down atop a sandy bank behind the Harken Bible building.
Thank you, I said.
An honor, soul catcher.
Suddenly, everything was quiet. We were alone. Our chests heaving, Ian and I looked at each other numbly. I gestured toward a side door in the building’s ground floor, near the huge garage door I used when I parked my truck inside the building. “I have an emergency key buried outside.”
I ran to the rusty, fifty-gallon drum where I burned my demon canvases. I fell to my knees and began digging in the charred dirt at the drum’s base. My breath rattled in my chest. Ian took us a guard spot beside me. Blood dripped from his jaw. As soon as I had a moment, I’d heal the bane wound.
“What the feck is that noise?” Ian asked suddenly. We heard a loud rumble coming up the service road in front of the building. Massive wheels, a big-ass engine. Something so large it moved slowly. But not slowly enough.
Ian ran to a corner of the shop and craned his head to look. He bolted back to me. “Up. ’Tis Pig Face. Run.”
The roar grew louder. The ground trembled. It was hard to talk over the sound. I stabbed a hand under the steel drum and pulled out a plastic baggie with the key in it. “Got it!”
We scrambled toward the door.
Too late. The enormous scoop of a bulldozer clipped the building’s corner. Shards of brick and aged mortar sprayed the air. We stared up into the dirty yellow cab of a huge machine. The dark, intense face that had belonged to Dante now gazed down at us through the dozer’s mud-flecked windshield with a bored expression. Pig Face revved the giant engine and pivoted the scoop so its lethal scraping edge was aimed at our bodies. Ian raised the semi-automatic pistol and fired repeatedly.
Bullets ricocheted off the cab and shattered the windshield, but Pig Face had already ducked behind the console.
And the bulldozer kept coming.
He isn’t afraid of us at all, I thought frantically.
Ian shoved me toward the door then stepped between me and the oncoming blade as I jammed the key into the lock. The stink of diesel and the roar of the engine wiped out every other sensation. I felt the lock turn, slammed my shoulder into the door, and it swung inward.
Ian pushed me through.
The dozer rammed the doorway. One end of the scoop caught Ian under his left arm, pinching the outer wall of his torso against the door jamb. He groaned and wrenched himself backward.
The skin along his ribcage ripped. He fell inside the doorway with me grabbing him, holding on from behind, breaking his fall. He landed on me. A giant fist knocked all the air from my lungs. His shirt tore down one side. Blood immediately spread down his side and onto me.
The building groaned as Pig Face pressed the dozer’s full weight and power into it, but the wall wouldn’t give. Not yet, anyway. He jerked the levers. The dozer began backing away. Readying for another full-speed run.
I staggered to my feet, grabbed the door, slammed it shut and turned the deadbolt. As if that would save us. “Ian!”
Oh my God. His blood was everywhere. I could see an open wound bigger than my hand on his side just below the ribs. But if I didn’t get him on his feet and upstairs, Pig Face would knock the wall down on top of us. I snatched the pistol off the blood-stained concrete floor then grabbed Ian’s hand. I pulled hard. “Come on,” I begged. “Get up. Move!”
I would never forget that moment. His face bloody from the bane’s scratch, his torso turning crimson, his blue eyes stark with pain, he
still managed a cocky smile. “Always orderin’ me about,” he said, his voice strained.
He grimaced as I helped him get to his knees, swaying. Outside, the bulldozer’s engine bellowed as it rushed the wall again.
“Walk, Ian, walk!”
He staggered to his feet. I snugged myself underneath his good arm, wedging my shoulder under his armpit, trying to brace him. We made our way slowly toward the wooden stairs that led to my loft.
The dozer rammed the wall again.
Chunks of mortar sprayed us. Dust fell in a thick cloud. Bits of brick and splintered wood fell from the thick joists of the floor above us. But the wall didn’t give. Didn’t even buckle.
“Building . . . won’t collapse . . . ” I gasped as we worked our way up one step at a time. “Fucker . . . can’t knock down . . . Harken Bible. All we . . . have to do . . . is get upstairs. Safe!”
I tried to ignore the blood soaking the left side of Ian’s torso and making a growing stain down the left side of his khakis all the way to his knee. I wouldn’t let him bleed to death. Goddammit, I had the power to heal him, didn’t I?
We made it to the top. I could hear the dozer revving up again. I got Ian almost all the way across the wide floor, planning to settle him on my small bed, but just before we reached it his knees buckled. We collapsed on the floor with me cushioning his head and shoulders. He lay there with me pillowing him, hugging him desperately. He drew deep breaths.
“I can heal you,” I promised. I placed a shaking hand on his clawed face. “This is just a bane wound. A fucking illusion. I order it to go away!”
When I lifted my bloody palm, his face was healed. “Yes!” I helped him stretch out—his eyes were squinted shut with pain—and then I knelt beside him quickly, pressing my hands on the horrible wound in his side. “All right, now, go away, you fucking hole, heal now, stop bleeding—” my voice was raw—“I’m a soul catcher, I order this wound to heal itself—”
“Love,” Ian said gently, weakly. “’Tis not a bane wound. ’Tis a real one. And you can no’ heal it.”
I knew that all along, but I refused to admit it.
“Yes, I can. I fucking can! I didn’t get you up here to let you bleed to death—”
Pig Face rammed the building again. Not the wall this time. The big garage door, instead. The door was built of massive timbers with steel braces, but it couldn’t withstand the full force of a bulldozer. The timbers made low, screaming sounds, wooden shrieks as their fibers tore and the rivets in their steel frame began to rip free.
“Love,” Ian rebuked, as I continued to press on his wound. “Stop.”
“I will not . . . give up,” I said in a high, gritted voice, keening, furious, terrified that Ian was leaving me.
He reached across with his good arm and put that hand over mine. Held still, I shivered. When I looked at him the quiet resignation in his eyes tore me apart. “Livia, the fecker’s going to tear down that big door in another pass or two. He’s coming up here to kill us both.”
“I’ve got the gun—” Suddenly the studio’s tall windows filled with shadows. Hideous, winged banes attacked the glass, clawing, shrieking, slamming their beaks and tusks into the panes and the steel frames. “I see you, I banish you,” I screamed at them, and they blew apart, but others took their places.
Ian’s hand clamped hard on mine. “They’re empowered by himself, by him being here with murderous intent. They’ll get in, Livia. When he breaks the door they’ll come with him. You won’t be able to shoot him quick enough to fend off him and them as well. And even if you can kill his body quick you’d only be releasing his true self. He’ll be on you before you can get through the ritual of banishment. It takes a bit of time to banish a demon. A thorough job. You’ll need help.”
“I’ll call for Sheba—” I threw my head back and yelled—“Sheba! We need you here!”
“They can’t stop him now, love. He’s too powerful.” He groaned. “Livia. I can fight him and give you the chance you need. But not like this. Not in this wounded body.”
I hunched over him. “What are you saying? No. No.”
“Have you come to believe so little about the way of souls? You know it’s not worth fighting to keep a soul stuck in a bit of ruined flesh. You know it’s no’ the end.”
The dozer slammed the door again. The timbers tore apart. The whole building shook. All it would take was one more run at those failing supports, and Pig Face could walk through.
“Livia. Take the gun. Do no’ think about it. When the fecking bastard comes up the stairs, kill him quick too. Then you and me will go at him together. ’Tis the only way.”
I put my forehead against his chest. I kissed the spot over his heart. When I lifted my head I gazed into his blue eyes. “I love you. I always have, I always will. No matter what you look like, no matter who you are on the outside. Always.”
He smiled so broadly it broke my heart even more. “I love you too. Now, then, forever.” His smile faded. “Go on, now, m’love. Do no’ hesitate.”
I reached beside us and picked up the pistol.
I knelt over Ian, straddling him. His blood stained my knees. I put both hands on the shaking gun to steady my aim. My tears fell on his blood-stained face. He managed one more smile. “Now, that’s a sight I’ll remember to death and back,” he whispered. “You crying o’r me.” He clamped his hand atop mine. As always, we shared the choices, the pain, the passage.
“See you later,” I said hoarsely. I pulled the trigger.
His body convulsed between my legs. It was as if he came inside me one more time. Death and sex. No. Death and love. I loved him. I loved him so much. And I’d killed him.
I laid the gun down and bent over him, taking his face between my hands, crying, stroking the shaggy, dark-brown hair, the blood-smeared beard. He looked up at me and never looked away. I tracked every second as the life of his body faded. As the light went out of his eyes.
As the blue in them returned to gray.
At that moment I didn’t care whether souls lived forever. I didn’t believe I’d ever see him again. I can’t live like this, I thought. I want to go wherever he goes. It’ll be easy.
I picked up the pistol and lifted it toward my head.
“I’ll ne’r forgive you if you pull that trigger,” Ian said.
I twisted toward his voice. He stood a few feet away. No wounds, no blood. He was whole again, and strong.
And he carried one of his prized, handmade axes.
I lurched to my feet. “Ian—”
The dozer plowed through the garage door. Timbers crashed. The stink of diesel fumes rose up the stairwell. The engine went quiet.
“He’s here,” Ian said. “He knows I’m dead. He thinks I’m gone. And he’s thinking you’re easy pickings.” Ian lifted the ax. “This is the same as me. It exists in a separate world, not this realm of yours. It’s no good against Dante’s mortal body. But it’ll be plenty good once you roust Pig Face from Dante’s form.”
We heard the soft, sinister thud of footsteps on the stairs. I dropped to a squat and pretended to sob. I tucked the pistol behind me.
“No point in sounding pitiful, Soul Catcher,” Pig Face called, his voice a hollow and harsh mimic of Dante’s rich tones. “I don’t deal in mercy.”
“Ian’s dead,” I moaned. “Isn’t that enough for you? Can’t you just leave us alone?”
“The way you left my Other alone?”
“She was a murderer. She was evil. If I’d let her go, she’d have destroyed many other innocent souls. I understand that, now. I wasn’t wrong to banish her.” I groaned loudly again. “If you kill me, I’ll just come back. Can’t we agree to a truce?”
Pig Face laughed. “No. I enjoy killing you and the people you love. After I kill you this time I’ll fuck your body and his too. A little treat I give myself.”
The demon stepped off the top of the staircase and looked down at me as I squatted across the big room from him, beside Ian’s b
loody, ravaged body.
His mouth curled. “I expected a little more challenge from you. But you’ve weakened in every life since Wonaneya, a little more each time. Before long you’ll be so gutless and cowed that you won’t bother to come back at all. And that’s when I’ll say I’ve conquered you. That’s when I’ll bow my head to the memory of my Other and tell her I’ve avenged her.” You think only banes and demons can be banished from this world. But your kind and your allies can be banished, too. That’s just one of the many things you don’t know about the way things work.”
He held out a hand. “You can’t escape. Come here.”
I sighed deeply. I stood, head bowed, shoulders slumped.
Then I brought the pistol up swiftly, clamped my other hand to it for a steady aim—just as Dante had taught me to do in his weapons classes—and stared down the barrel at Dante’s dark eyes and handsome features. For one second, the gun trembled in my hand. Dante.
Then I remembered I was looking at nothing but the shell around Pig Face.
“How about a quick bullet between your fucking eyes?” I said.
I shot him in the forehead.
He dropped. He twitched. His body went limp. I walked toward him slowly, the gun still posed. I didn’t trust the pool of dark blood spreading on the gray, weathered floor beneath his head.
Ian’s spirit stepped in front of me. “My turn, Livia. Back away. Get ready to speak your words.”
A bloody green mist began to glow over Dante’s body.
I halted. I backed up. I lowered the gun.
It wasn’t going to be useful anymore.
I kept backing up until I could lay the pistol on one of my art-supply cabinets. Ian turned to watch Dante’s body. I couldn’t take my eyes off the horror. The seeping green mist quickly formed a sight I’d hoped I’d never see again in this life or any other: Pig Face’s hulking, grotesque self.
I fumbled inside the cabinet’s open shelves, pulled out a large sketch pad, and flipped it open. Maybe I didn’t need real paper, a canvas, paint, nothing. Mary had shown me it was all about the ritual, not the actual drawing. But this fucker had come into my life, this life, in my art.
Soul Catcher Page 26
