Green-Eyed Demon (Sabina Kane #3)

by Jaye Wells

  I used my hands to find the edges of the coffin and clear off the top to open it. She peered into the pit where I crouched. “Be careful when you open the lid. We need to preserve the body as best we can.”

  I wiped my brow with a dirty hand, no doubt leaving a muddy streak on my forehead. “That’s what I don’t get. Won’t the embalming process make reanimation a problem?”

  She smiled in an overly patient way that set my teeth on edge. “We’re just providing a temporary vessel for a spirit. The plumbing doesn’t need to work.”

  “If you say so.” I brushed dirt from the coffin, clearing space around the edges. Finally, I worked my fingers along the lip and lifted. A sickly sweet vapor rose from the box. I covered my nose with my hand and peered in.

  Now, I’m no expert on decomposition, so I had no idea how long the guy had been in there. But judging from the smell, he’d passed his expiration date by a long shot. Of course, since we’re talking about a corpse here, freshness is a relative term, I guess.

  The powder blue suit and ruffled shirt implied a disco-era burial, but for all I knew the choice could have been motivated by lack of money or taste. As for the state of the corpse, well, it wasn’t pretty. If the mortuary had bothered to apply funeral putty to this dude it was long gone. Instead, greenish veins webbed across bloated gray skin. which created a gruesome marbling effect.

  “How long has he been dead?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “According to the obit I found online, Kevin Johnson was buried four days ago. That’s perfect for our uses since nanm resides in the soil near the body for nine days before it ascends.” At my look she explained, “Nanm is his animating spirit.”

  I nodded that I understood. “Well, he smells pretty rank for only four days in the ground.”

  “Sabina,” she intoned. “A little respect please.”

  Gritting my teeth, I hefted his stiff bulk over my shoulder. Something squished ominously. “I swear to the gods, if his dead guy juices get on my jacket you’re buying me a new one.”

  She rolled her eyes and held her hands out. “Hand him up to me so you can climb out.”

  I shook my head. “That’s okay, I got it.”

  She raised an eyebrow, the only clue I’d nicked her pride. But she backed away, allowing me room to shove the body onto the lip of the grave. Easy work given my head and shoulder loomed above the ground.

  Once I climbed out and brushed the worst of the funk off my jeans, she pointed. “Set him by the bird.”

  I complied, laying him out on his back under a branch draped with lacy Spanish moss. Zen grabbed her bag and came to join us. From it, she withdrew a glass vial and pulled the cork lid. She poured brittle herbs from the tube into a clay pot of sorts. It kind of looked like one of those incense burners hippies buy at head shops.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “This,” Zen explained in a business-like tone, “is an incense made from sage, juniper, and rosemary.” She bent down to light the incense with a thin shaft of wood she’d lit with a match. From the scent, I guessed cedar, but I wasn’t sure. A few seconds later a thin tendril of smoke wafted up from the cone of herbs.

  She moved to the body. This time she removed a larger jar—the kind southern women use to preserve rhubarb in—and the lid opened with a pop. The liquid inside was clear, but the astringent scent rose like vapor, making my eyes water.

  “This is witch hazel. Helps focus the spell so the spirit we want shows up instead of someone else.”

  I nodded like an idiot even though she wasn’t looking at me. She was too busy sprinkling the liquid all around the body. I had a fleeting moment of pity for the dead man. I’d imagine few people anticipate that their bodies will end up half naked under a tree while a voodoo lady sprinkles them with astringent toner. Despite my dislike of humans in general, the whole thing felt disrespectful. And I began to wonder if there might be a better way to find the answers I was seeking.

  “And this…” She pulled another cigar from her pocket—this one was thicker than the last. Like a huge brown phallus. “… is a Macanudo.” She raised another lit cedar scrap to the stogie. She sucked at it so hard her cheeks went concave and a cloud of tobacco-scented smoke swirled around us.

  I waved a hand in front of my face to clear the smoke. Just when I was trying to figure out how the cigar fit into this whole thing, she knelt next to the body.

  “Hey, help me pry open his lips,” she said over her shoulder. “Just be gentle, we need the jaw intact.”

  “What are you going to do?” I said, eyeing the cigar with suspicion.

  She sighed and glared back at me over her shoulder. “The smoke is a conduit for the spirit. We have to make sure it enters his body and reaches his center.”

  “Wait, you’re not seriously about to put your mouth on the cold, dead lips of that man, are you?”

  “It’s either his lips or his anus.”

  “Lips it is, then.”

  “We’re going to have to snip the threads the mortician used to sew the jaw shut. There’s a pair of scissors in my bag.” She nodded to the head. “And make it quick.”

  I dug through the bag until I found a small pair of nail scissors. What I didn’t find in the bag was a pair of rubber gloves. Awesome.

  I crouched next to Zen, who held out her hand for the scissors. Of course. That meant I had the fun job of spreading the corpse’s lips. They perched on his face like two frozen grubworms. Working quickly, I spread them so Zen could do the snipping thing. A couple of seconds later, the jaw went slack. I thought the outside of the corpse smelled horrible, but that was nothing compared to the noxious odor of grave breath that escaped his mouth. I reared back and covered my mouth and nose with my hand, cursing my vampirically heightened sense of smell.

  “Good,” Zen said, dropping the scissors. “As I blow the smoke in there, I need you to call on helpful spirits to guide the nanm back into his body.”

  I looked at her for a moment. All this spiritual stuff was over my head. “How do I do that, exactly?”

  Her sigh seemed to say Do I have to do everything around here? She picked up a gourd covered in colorful strands of beads. “Simple. Take the bottle of rum from my bag. Sprinkle it in a circle around the body. As you do so, say the following three times: ‘Generous Spirits of the Loa, I summon and evoke thee to aid us in our quest for information.’ When that’s done, prick your finger and let the blood drop to the dirt.”

  I grabbed the bottle of rum, resisting the urge to take a couple of shots from it. Didn’t want to piss off the Loa. I did as Zen instructed, repeating the incantation as I formed a wide circle around the body. Just in case, I added Hekate and Lilith’s names to the chant. I didn’t want the goddess and the Great Mother to think I’d switched teams or anything.

  As I did so, Zenobia leaned over the man’s face and blew a steady stream of smoke between his gaping lips. While she did this, she shook the gourd rattle over his chest. Meanwhile, I focused all my energy on calling the spirits like she’d said. After a few moments, a tingle started in my midsection and a warm breeze swooped through the graveyard. Taking the blade I’d grabbed from her bag, I pricked the tip of my finger and milked two drops from the wound.

  The second the blood hit the ground, Kevin’s body jerked once. Twice. At the same moment, Stryx screeched like a banshee.

  My eyes widened and I took a step closer, careful to stay outside the rum-soaked circle. Sure enough, the guy’s eyelids spasmed like he was trying to open them but couldn’t. Zen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “May your spirit be at ease, Mr. Johnson. We seek information. Will you aid us?”

  The moan that escaped the man’s lips then sent goose bumps rippling across my arms. Stryx’s sudden frantic wing flaps told me I wasn’t the only one spooked.

  Zen looked up with a worried expression. Then she spoke to Kevin Johnson’s spirit again. “Mr. Johnson? We seek to communicate with the owl called Stryx. Will you aid us?”

 
The corpse’s eyelids popped open then. Two flesh-colored domes popped off the pupils and slid to the ground. My gorge rose at the sight of his sunken eyes with their cloudy white irises. Zen scooted back on her butt. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

  I stilled. “What do you mean? I thought we were trying to wake him.”

  She shook her head. “His mouth should be the only thing moving.”

  Stryx’s screeches started up again. And this time, the zombie spoke, as well.

  Need fly! Kevin growled from where he lay. Escape mixed-blood. Find master.

  I paused as his words sunk in. “Hey, it’s working. Kevin, can you ask Stryx where they’re keeping Maisie, please?”

  Stryx screeched.

  A second later, the corpse yelled. Help!

  “No, Kevin, we need to know where Maisie is. Maisie,” I enunciated, stepping to the very edge of the circle.

  Big box! Cat piss. Master come! Kane! HELP!

  I frowned. “What?”

  Stryx’s frenzied movements continued so hard that the cage fell over. The crash shocked Kevin out of stillness. His gray hands clawed at the dirt until he had enough momentum to rise into a sitting position. I stumbled back, wondering if this was normal. I had my answer when Zen freaked the fuck out and ran out of the circle screaming.

  I grabbed her as she darted past. “Whoa! Hold on. Where are you going?”

  Her eyes were wild. “The spell went wrong. He shouldn’t be moving.”

  I frowned at her, my heart thumping. “What?”

  “We accidentally reanimated him. He’s a revenant!”

  My brow hurt from frowning at her so hard. I’d heard the term revenant before but couldn’t quite put my finger on an exact definition. Before I could ask Zen, however, a terrible moan to my right grabbed my attention. Kevin Johnson was on his feet. His coordination was off, so he didn’t so much walk as shamble.

  “Wait. Are you telling me that”—I pointed an accusing finger at Kevin—“is a godsdamned zombie?”

  Before she could answer, Stryx started squawking louder and pushing against the edge of the cage. His frantic movements rattled the cage so hard it rolled. Fortunately, the ruckus distracted the zombie and he stopped moving toward us like a drunken toddler. Kevin was still tuned into the owl’s thoughts, so he provided a running commentary. Fly! Must fly! Need master!

  Unfortunately, he also started lumbering toward Stryx’s cage.

  “Shit,” I whispered. “I don’t suppose you have any zombie-be-gone in that bag of yours?”

  Zen’s rapidly retreating voice reached me from halfway across the cemetery. “Screw the owl. It’s every man for himself.”

  “Some voodoo priestess you are!” I yelled after her. I wanted to drag her back and make her deal with this, but I didn’t have time. Because at that moment, Kevin the Zombie was grabbing at Stryx’s cage. The owl’s shrieks of alarm only seemed to egg the revenant on. He also continued to scream Stryx’s thoughts. Danger! Fly! Master, help!

  In between screams, Kevin smacked his lips like a fat man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  “Okay, Sabina.” I gave myself a pep talk. “Pull yourself together. It’s just the reanimated corpse of a human.” Louder, I yelled. “Hey, Zombie Boy!”

  “Gargh?” the zombie groaned, and his stiff neck swiveled so he could gaze at me with his dead, dead eyes.

  I rubbed my head in what I hoped the zombie would find an appetizing manner. “Come and get it!”

  He waved an arm as stiff as a tree branch in my direction. Then he started groping at the cage with rigored fingers. I probably shouldn’t have been offended that a zombie just shooed off an opportunity to eat my brains, but I had to admit it stung.

  By this time, Stryx’s cries must have had no meaning, because Kevin had stopped his translations in favor of moans.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” I grabbed my gun from my waistband.

  “It won’t work.” Zen’s voice came from far away. I looked over my shoulder and saw her crouching behind a bush near the entrance.

  Ignoring her, I turned back around and squeezed off five rounds in quick succession. The zombie’s body jerked with each impact, but he didn’t fall or even drop the cage.

  “Told you!” a faint feminine voice called.

  Mmmoooaaannn. Kevin had finally gotten the door of the cage open and was fishing around inside for the frantic owl.

  “You gotta cut his head off,” Zen yelled.

  Of course I did. As I ran to look for something to use in the weeds, the zombie let loose an eerie victory cry. A second later, my hand closed around the handle of a garden spade. Not ideal, but better than the portable shovel I’d used to dig the grave.

  I turned in time to see the zombie’s maw open wide. Despite his stiff limbs, the revenant’s strength was impressive as he managed to grip the struggling owl and lift it toward his gaping mouth.

  “No!” I drew the spade back and started running. It happened in slow motion. My legs burning. The head of the tool swinging through the air. Kevin’s jaw crashing down on Stryx’s head. The jolt of impact slamming up my arm.

  The zombie fell to the side, spewing a mouthful of feathers as he went. But I’d been too late. The owl’s ravaged carcass dropped to the dirt at my feet.

  The zombie moaned and rolled. Before he could work up enough momentum to rise, though, I slammed my boot heel into his chest. A grunt escaped his chest. His hands clawed at my shins.

  I looked down on him like an avenging angel, raising the spade handle up with the metal end pointing down. Beneath me, the zombie went still. His grotesque face morphing into a pitiful mask of fear.

  “Mother?”

  I slammed the spade down with all my might. It stopped partway through the neck. Putting my heel on the shoulder of the metal, I stomped down until the spade broke through with a crunch and lodged in the soil beneath the zombie’s severed neck.

  Panting, I wiped the back of my shaking hand across my forehead. A twig snapped behind me. My heart kicked back into gear as I spun.

  “Shit!” I yelled when I saw it was just Zen. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” My heart downshifted, but my ire was still up. I glared at the human. “Thanks for all your help, by the way.”

  She crossed her arm. “Forgive me, but some of us aren’t immortal.”

  “Whatever.” I sighed and looked down at the Stryx’s lifeless body. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I think you’re missing the bigger issue here.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to the headless zombie.

  “Oh. You must have done something wrong.”

  She shot me a look. “I did everything right. The only variable was you.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re half-mage, right?”

  I nodded. A bad feeling crept through my midsection all the sudden.

  “But you don’t use your powers?”

  I looked down at my boots. “Not really.”

  “What did he say to you before you killed him?”

  I looked up quickly. “You heard that?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “He said ‘Mother,’ ” I mumbled.

  She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Sabina, why would a zombie think you’re his mother?”

  I had a really bad feeling I knew the answer, but I didn’t like it at all. “Hypothetically, does it matter who the blood comes from in the spell?”

  She pursed her lips. “Sometimes. But you’d have to be a very powerful mage for this”—she pointed at Kevin’s corpse—“to happen.” Her tone clearly communicated that Zen believed I was a run-of-the-mill mage with subpar skills. I agreed on the skills part, but—

  I swallowed. “You mean like a Chthonic mage?”

  Her eyes flared. “You’re a Chthonic?” she roared. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t know it mattered!”

  “Of course it matters! Chthonic magic ampl
ifies necromancy spells tenfold! Especially if there’s blood involved!” She shook her head at me. “Unbelievable! I sensed darkness in you when we met, but I figured it was just the vampire thing.”

  “Well, excuse me,” I said. “It’s not like I’ve ever done something like this before. Rhea should have told you.”

  She threw up her hands. “Gods of the Loa, you’re unbelievable. This isn’t Rhea’s fault. At the very least Adam should have mentioned it.”

  “Hey! At least I took care of it. Which is more than I can say for some people, who ran and hid.”

  She started talking under her breath. I only caught a few words, but I stopped listening when I heard “misbegotten daughter of Satan.”

  “Okay, so I think we can both chalk this up to a lesson learned,” I said. “Can we go now?”

  She stopped pacing and shot me a glare so hot my cheeks burned. “Not so fast there. You’ve got a body to rebury.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  She looked pointedly at the spade. “Don’t forget the owl.”

  18

  An hour later, I slammed out of Zen’s car. My first priority was a shower. Between the mud and the bits o’ Kevin coating my clothes, I felt like a walking hazmat disaster.

  Zen followed more slowly. Smart of her. I’d found her merely annoying before, but after the confrontation in the cemetery and her judgy attitude over my honest mistake, I couldn’t stand the woman. The whole thing had me seriously regretting my promise to have a kinder, gentler attitude toward the mortally challenged.

  Of course, part of my foul mood might have stemmed from the fact I’d rammed headfirst into another dead end. As I stomped up the back steps of the store, I prayed Adam and Giguhl’s recon had been more successful than my clusterfuck of a night.

  I threw open the door and prepared to go inside, but something stopped me. It took me a second to realize what was off. For a Friday night, the store was abnormally quiet. I held a hand up to Zen. “Wait here.”