The Necromancer's Betrayal

by Mimi Sebastian

  We hit the pavement simultaneously, looked at each other, and burst out in hysterical laughter.

  “Holy shit,” I said. I don’t know why neither of us had cried or freaked. Maybe we’d plain seen too much crazy and could finally laugh at the absurdity of being caught in a witch tornado. Or maybe we needed to revel in our bad-ass-ness instead of screaming in defeat. I stood and heaved Kara up.

  A few bystanders approached us, probably thinking we’d just escaped death from the weird weather anomaly. I doubt they’d noticed Kara’s machinations while working her spell, most likely attributing her face scrunches and hand gestures to frightened reactions.

  Kara’s cell chimed. She dug it out and after a few curses and murmurs, she turned to me. “The tornado. I had a bad feeling about it. Sybil took over the coven—a coup de coven—and now she’s trying to eliminate the opposition.” She pressed her fingers on her forehead. “I can’t go back.”

  I LAY IN BED and stared at the ceiling, illuminated by rays of moonlight pouring in through my open window. After the tornado, Kara left to meet her coven allies at the bookstore and decide on a plan. I was pissed at myself, unable to help her. When I’d tried with Olive, I’d fucked that up.

  I shot up at a shuffling sound followed by a pattering chorus of paws. I reached for my flashlight and shed its beam on every dark corner and crevice until it illuminated silvery eyes.

  Fucking rats.

  I dangled my legs off the bed and resisted the urge to pull them back to the safety of the covers, away from gnashing teeth. “I’m bigger than you little furry bastards.” I cursed out loud, but in reality, I had an unnatural fear of rats born from the unnatural power that surged through my body.

  When I was twelve, I’d ventured to the depths of the basement while searching for old family pictures my mom had hidden away, hoping to find clues about my father. Otherwise, I steered clear of the musty, moist basement pocked with too many dark spaces between the metal shelves and brick walls, beneath the wood stairs where the creatures of my imagination lay in wait.

  Before descending to search the boxes, I’d propped the door open with a chair, but the small wooden chair proved futile against the force of the thick door. While I poked through dusty boxes, the door had swung shut with a stomach-clenching thud. I screamed and ran up the stairs, wrangled with the doorknob, and pushed at the door to no avail. In my hysteria, I’d let some of my power leak out of me. Cora had only recently taught me to exercise my power, but I was like a baby scorpion with little to no control over the poison muscle. Where adult scorpions carefully measured the amount of poison it ejected, the babies sprung it out in hysterical doses, like me, then.

  And it hit about a half dozen rats lying dead from poison and traps left by Cora. When I finally ceased pounding on the door, I heard new, chilling sounds. A clatter and smack, as if something was hitting the wall with a metal object, followed by squeaking and sliding. When I dared peek over the stairs at the ground, I saw them: their sick, decomposed bodies, matted fur, flesh caved in. One struggled against the metal spring of a trap clamped on its tail. They chattered and squealed, and I cried and screamed, praying Mom or Cora would return soon.

  One of the rats, its eyes hollowed and filled with maggots, began mounting the stairs toward me. I continued to bang on the door, with my head twisted around to watch with terror as the zombie rats clambered up the stairs, in a drowsy, but determined arrogance, as if confident of their eventual conquest. I stopped banging, slumped against the door, landing on the top step, mesmerized by the hideous procession. When the maggot-eyed one reached the step right below my feet, I angled my foot to kick it when the door opened, and I fell back into Cora.

  I scrambled past her, screaming incoherently about hiring a goddamned exterminator, ran to my room, and jumped on the bed. I sat up, shivering under my blanket, until Cora found me.

  Now, I moved to slide off the bed when a flabby body hit my face. I screamed at the sudden attack. Claws scratched my cheek. I grabbed its squishy body, tossed it on the floor, and smashed the stunned rat with my long, heavy flashlight. I jerked back, expecting a spurt of blood, but nothing sprayed or oozed. In fact, the rat seemed to lack any internal organs. It was hollowed out, as if a taxidermist had not yet finished the job.

  Before I could make sense of the attack, another one jumped at me and clung to my cotton shorts with its nails. I jabbed at it with the flashlight, smacked it until it dropped and crushed it like the other. I steeled my nerves and searched around the room until satisfied no other rats lurked in the shadows. I ran into the bathroom, flung off my clothes, and ran the shower, scrubbing my body until I’d sufficiently sanitized it. If only I could scrub my mind clean as well.

  The rats had to have been a message from Delatte. He could have filled my house with these hollow creatures, like the devil dog, but he’d sent two as a warning. He’d come to my house. Christ. From rats, to killer tornadoes, raving Cael, and demon spiders . . . oh . . .

  I sat on the rim of the tub, water still running, my heart racing. Spiders, eyes . . . Naala. Cael knows about Naala. The only way for him to have known of the wretched creature without having traveled to the demon realm was if he’d seen her statue at Xavier’s gallery.

  I clenched the towel to stabilize my shaking hand, no longer concerned about Delatte. His time would come, not at my hands, but at the hands of his Baron Samedi. Or Xavier. The same certainty that crushed me when I’d found the page from Cora’s journal, announcing Malthus as my grandfather, now suffocated me. Xavier had pulled the strings to this macabre puppet show all along. It was still a shock, but somehow I realized I’d always known. I’d just hadn’t wanted to see the obvious truth about the identity of the big bad demon. Now I had to confront him. The demon who’d never disdained me, who’d praised my abilities, who’d fed such satisfying morsels to my starved psyche.

  The demon who’d killed my grandmother.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE NEXT EVENING, I stood in front of Xavier in the gallery loft. “You’re the Big Bad,” I said.

  I didn’t expect denial. Xavier had invested too much in his misdeeds. Instead, he almost seemed relieved. He turned toward the window that spanned the entire wall. Despite all the anguish and events leading to this moment, I too found myself relieved—relieved I’d discovered the Big Bad, relieved I could tell Ivo and finally have this damn thing taken off my arm. My grandmother’s killer stood before me, and I was relieved.

  He turned around with an amused curl to his lips. “I much preferred Mastermind.”

  I wasn’t amused. “I actually prefer bastard.”

  His smile widened. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

  “Cael.”

  “You reanimated Cael to discover my identity?” He chuckled. “Ruby, you have no idea how amazing you are.”

  It was tempting, this praise. Ivo had called me an abomination, and most of the supes shared the sentiment. The only other person besides Xavier who’d nurtured me and expressed excitement at my ability had been Cora. Malthus had urged me on for sure, but under so many false pretenses, I could hardly call what he did encouragement.

  An anxious ache welled in my chest. I’d turned to Xavier, confided in him, might have continued to trust him, until I found myself in Cael’s position, serving him in sycophantic fashion to gain power and earn his praise. Would I too have committed foul deeds to earn that admiring tilt of his head? That inflection of wonder and admiration in his voice?

  “Here I thought it would prove much more difficult to teach you about the darker flairs of your power, but it turns out you’re doing just fine on your own.” He wore one of those cold, satisfied serial killer smiles, lacking any remorse.

  Anger flared in me, although more at myself than him. Xavier had known what he was doing from the very beginning. God, he’d killed my grandmother. The realization f
inally sunk in and gripped my heart in a painful vise. He’d been hundreds of miles ahead of everyone, had thousands of years to plan his triumph and string me along for the ride. I’d only had a day to assimilate his madness, and I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough time to unravel his intentions before he outwitted us all.

  “You killed my grandmother,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm and at odds with the turmoil churning in my gut.

  “Cora and Malthus.” He bit the words out. “I blame Malthus mostly, but both of them, hypocrites. And me, I lost the woman I loved.” My mind flashed to Xavier sculpting the bust of Colette with veneration and obsession in every stroke. “They killed her. Malthus killed her.”

  My tongue slipped around in my dry mouth before it found solid words to hold onto, but even then, the words came out sounding parched. “He killed her?”

  “He didn’t deliver the blow, but his support of the genocide bloodied his hands as much as the executioner’s axe. Cora had agreed to help me, to spare you, but she died while attempting to take a soul for me. Her own power overwhelmed her. For that, I’m sorry. The death of any necromancer is a tragedy.”

  I bit hard on the inside of my mouth, drawing blood. My stomach twisted. Cora had agreed to take a living soul to spare me? I fought back the tears and the grief that threatened to overwhelm me. She, of all people, had valued human life and died while trying to commit an act she would have despised. I rolled my tongue around and swallowed the metallic bitterness the blood had generated in my mouth. “You claim no responsibility for her. What about Adam? Or the other supes? Dominic?”

  “Casualties of war, my dear. Some, like the vampires, deserved retribution for helping to kill the necros. Why do you care about Dominic? He wanted you dead, if I recall.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  He released a loud laugh that echoed off the walls. “We’ll see. Lysander’s ascension to Master Vampire was an unexpected complication, but I’ve learned that things work themselves out, often in one’s favor, given enough patience. All in due time.”

  All in due time? Did he plan to off all my friends? Kara? Ewan? I needed to figure out a way to back him into a corner before he destroyed everything and everyone who was important in my life.

  “And Cael?” I asked.

  “I had high hopes for him, but he was already emotionally unstable. Weak.”

  “And when he no longer met your needs, you sent a demon assassin after him.”

  Xavier lifted his lips in a crooked smile. He hadn’t needed the assassin, not when he’d had me to step in and kill Cael, make Brandon a revenant. I’d made his job ridiculously easy. I wanted to crawl away and merge with the protozoa in some swamp, lose the ability to think and reason, because none of my reasoning capabilities to this point had proven at all effective.

  “Why Olive?”

  “That was unintended. Delatte took matters into his own hands. Used her to get to you.”

  “You let Delatte slip from your control, just like with Cael,” I said.

  “But they wreaked such splendid havoc on their own, don’t you think?” He frowned. “However, Delatte is another matter altogether. Certain forces are influencing him. An unexpected complication, but not entirely undesirable. As I told you, I will take care of Delatte.”

  Despite his admission, he didn’t seem overly concerned that Delatte had subverted him or that someone who wielded such perverted and massive power was wreaking havoc. He was overconfident, and I made a note for future reference.

  “You and Delatte keep mentioning these forces. What are they?” I’d sensed them. The fawning whispers clinging to Delatte.

  “All in good time.” He moved closer to me, and I backed up against the rail of the balustrade.

  “You were the greatest surprise of all. Malthus was wise to keep your true nature hidden.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But the truth always finds a way out, and in your case, that truth shook the very foundation of demonkind. Demon necromancers aren’t supposed to exist, and many wanted to eliminate the danger you pose. But I understand your capabilities. You have the opportunity to change everything. We both do.”

  He sounded so sincere. Once again, that exhilarated voice surged from the depths of my soul to embrace what he offered. Maybe the demons deserved a bitch slap. I rubbed the chagur, my new nervous tic. The demon council issued edicts, determined the fate of others, even killing off their mistakes, like the past necromancers. Why not fight back? I shook the mutinous thoughts from my head. He caused Cora’s death. He is evil. Why did I have to constantly remind myself of that?

  “Yes, you understand. Ivo had no right to place the chagur on your arm. He effectively sentenced you to death, just like the former necromancers. He and his followers had no right to pass judgment, decide who lived or died,” Xavier said, his tone heavy and bitter.

  The genocide had been a horrible injustice, but there was a line, one he didn’t see at all. I still wasn’t sure if I’d stepped over that line when I killed Cael, but I was keeping my distance now.

  “You see how I can help you master the potential of your power, understand what you’re capable of?”

  And he could, but what foul, twisted thing would I become in return? Cael probably paled in comparison. I observed Xavier, looking for some nervous twitch or other sign of sociopathic tendencies. But that was the problem. Sociopaths tended to act normal and in control. Cael had taught me that. Xavier had absolute certainty in the purity of his mission, like Ivo. Neither would flinch to kill or manipulate in service of their goal. Malthus was the only balanced one, and I’d pushed him away at every turn. I had to figure out what to do now. Play along until I could get to Malthus? But life, as always, had other plans. So did Delatte.

  I had no time to react. One minute I was standing there. The next, I was on my knees, watching Xavier through my murky vision as he struggled to stay upright. My neck tingled; otherwise sensation had abandoned my body. My limbs felt gelatinous, and I slumped to the floor, my head thudding on the wood. My last thought before blacking out was to ask Xavier how his splendid havoc was working for him now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I PRESSED A HAND to my throbbing head and struggled past the thick wave of nausea. What the hell had Delatte shot us with? A sluggish drug-induced state fogged my mind and slowed my muscles. I tried to rise from the floor, but was held back by a chain securing my ankle. I tugged at the thick rings and instantly winced when the shackle sliced into my skin and drew blood. Ah, fuck. I managed another glance at my surroundings before another swell of nausea surged. The small space reeked of wet, humid foulness. After my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed wooden stairs going up. Was I in a basement? I reached out and encountered a cold, sticky surface and jerked back in revulsion.

  Angry whispers drifted from the dark corners, urgent and insistent, reminiscent of the Columbarium, and I had to admit maybe all the talk of dark forces wasn’t bullshit. Even Xavier had alluded to something. I heard a door open and the click of a switch, illuminating a dirty light bulb that cast a smeary glow to the room. I saw a couple of dead bodies to my side. The creaking stairs drew my attention back to the figure of Delatte descending slowly. He’d striped his face with a brownish-red dye, almost comical, but in a scary clown way. He drew closer to me, giving me a whiff of copper, and I realized the face decoration wasn’t cheap face paint, but blood. My gut churned.

  He grabbed my wrist and slashed my arm in one fluid movement. I winced, tried to jerk my hand from his grasp, but he held tight until he squeezed out enough blood to smear on a new, improved voodoo doll. He turned his back to me and began chanting. The dark whispers joined him in a chorus from hell. I’d never believed in hell and knew demons did not punish humans with unspeakable tortures, although some might if persuaded. Demons were simply a race of powerful beings from another plane of existence and supern
atural humans were a product of unknown evolutionary processes. We possessed strange magical abilities, but this power Delatte called upon was forged in some crucible from hell. If hell existed, these entities he called upon were surely its denizens.

  “Delatte.” I needed to distract him, prevent him from completing the ritual that would suck my soul with more efficiency than a top model Electrolux. “What about Xavier? Your Baron Samedi. He’s not your god. He used you, and you allowed him to escape.”

  Delatte twisted his head around. “No matter. Soon I’ll deliver you and gain enough power to kill the usurper and become a vodun god. Save my son.”

  If I couldn’t convince Delatte, maybe I could take control of the corpses. I sent out streams of power, but they bounced right off the bodies and back into me with a jolt.

  Delatte laughed, a grating, maniacal laugh. “I shielded them from your power. Not even the dead roaches will respond to your call.”

  Lightning slashed the air outside, immediately followed by the crash of thunder, so loud and jarring even the shadows moaned. Wind whipped bushes against the solitary window above Delatte’s head then the sudden outburst quieted to the patter of rain. Delatte began chanting. The lightbulb swung slightly on its electric cord, the muted light slashing back and forth across the small room. Oh my God. I was going to lose it. There were only so many mutilated dead bodies and dank places filled with ungodly smells a person could take. Get it over with, for fuck’s sake.

  Maybe I spoke too soon.

  A malignant energy formed in the air over me, thickened. Fat, sticky gobs dripped on me, covering and clinging to my body. I gasped at the cold, icy intrusion. The putrid presence seeped into my lungs and squeezed. I choked and gagged and tried to breathe at the same time. Delatte watched me with a satisfied glint. I writhed on the ground as the energy squirmed and squiggled inside me, flexing and stretching my muscles as if trying to force it off my bones. A terrible pressure built in my skull, my heart spasmed, and I arched my back as it wrenched my insides in one final pull. I screamed at the hot agony ripping through me.