“Oh!” she said, and started to call to him but stopped.
The sticky note with the grocery list was on top of the dresser. She gave Nacho a little shrug. It’s not like they needed anything anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
VALENTIN BOUNCED ON the balls of his feet. He shook out his shoulders and arms, careful never to let the baton strike the drum. The small bells tied to the hoop frame chimed in unison.
“Why can’t I drum too?” Bradley asked.
“If you want to drum when I am done,” Valentin said, feeling the weight of the headdress, “then you can drum.” Though he couldn’t see Bradley, Valentin could imagine the dissatisfied look on his face. “Is the vodka ready?”
He heard liquid sloshing in a bottle.
“I’ve got it,” Bradley said.
Only once had Valentin ever seen such a thing done. His grandfather had performed the ritual, the fifth shaman in the lineage. It had terrified the young Valentin and he’d never been able to forget it. But the Lightning Shaman knew about the Stone, had even touched it. The Stone of Alatyr could not remain, nor did it want to. Once animated, it would seek the Multiverse of its own accord. He could only imagine how it would appear when it burst through. First, though, it had to be animated.
Valentin cast his eyes down at the carpet just in front of his boots. The thin black strips of leather that fell from his headdress completely enshrouded his face. His long, colorful deer hide robes hung heavy on his shoulders and reached all the way to the floor. Heaviest of all though were the reindeer antlers cast of iron. The straps around his forehead and under his chin were tight. Though he couldn’t see the Stone, he saw the base of the pedestal.
“Whatever happens,” Valentin said, beginning to hyperventilate, “don’t look at my eyes.”
Valentin bounced on his toes, rattling the bells in the drum. He bounced faster, steadily raising his heart rate and ramping up his breathing.
“Don’t look at your eyes,” Bradley said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
Valentin’s bouncing became rhythmic, as did the chiming of the bells. Up and down he bounced. Over and over the bells shook. Then he added an extra shake. Between his small jumps, he pulsed the drum once with a quick jerk. The rhythm doubled. He readied the baton.
Valentin pictured himself as the spirits would see him: a reindeer-man. He struck the drum. The bells shook and the resonant thrum of the drumhead vibrated in his hand. He struck it again. As he bounced up and down and pulsed the bells with a jerk, he interspersed the strike of the baton. Sweat trickled down his face and his breathing became labored, but he synced his breathing with the drumming. He let the rhythm settle in, felt it move his hands. His mind eased into it, no longer thinking. Then he added a second beat–a higher pitch one–near the rim of the hoop. The baton landed in the center of the drum for a lower frequency, then near the edge for a higher one, as the bells kept their own rhythm.
Over and over he beat the drum and shook it, beat the drum and shook it. Over and over, the throbbing filled his mind and body. The very air seemed to ring with it. He bounced on one foot, then the other, and a new cadence took over. Though he’d been looking down at the floor, his eyes rolled up into his head. The tempo accelerated. Each hand took on a life of its own. Each foot did the same. Even the puffing of his lungs moved in time. His entire body was nearly in tune. The vibrations were almost there. He began the internal mantra.
Earth and sky. Fire and Water. Light and dark. Sun and moon.
Sweat poured from him and his breathing turned to grunts. Nothing existed beyond the rhythm. He bounced from foot to foot. His forearms burned. His head began to sway. The real world slipped away in a red and foggy haze. With a jolt, he saw himself as though from the ceiling. It had begun.
He saw Bradley standing next to the Stone, staring at it. It was humming. The boy uncapped the vodka bottle.
In the room below him, tiny, colored points of light appeared: the spirits of earth and sky, fire and water, light and dark, sun and moon. They whirled around his reindeer antlers in an ever tightening circle, moving faster, and blurring. Suddenly, the bright specks of light zoomed inward. Down below, his body’s mouth gaped unnaturally wide and the spirits flew inside. He jerked, but the rhythm never faltered. In fact, it doubled and light spilled from his eyes.
Drawn by the luminous glow, Bradley looked at him.
“No!” both Valentin and his body yelled, though he didn’t recognize his voice.
It was as though a chorus had shouted, each spirit vying for control. They had only to glimpse another body was available and they would take it too. But Bradley was no longer looking at him, he was staring at the levitating Stone. The humming had become a high-pitched whine, and the green glass slowly began to turn. The drumming was frenetic now. The Stone revolved faster. Every molecule of air seemed to vibrate in time as the drumming became impossibly fast. Valentin could barely see his hands. His head rocked back and forth. His entire body swayed. The Stone was spinning too fast to see. It began to bob up and down.
“Now!” Valentin and his body shouted.
Bradley took a giant swig of vodka and spat it at the Stone. As the fine spray landed, the Stone sizzled. The rainbow points of light flew from Valentin’s eyes and sailed at the Stone. Like a tiny tornado, they enveloped it, spun it even faster until, without warning, it disappeared. For a moment, his body and Bradley’s, everything in the room, was tugged toward the new vacuum. In the next instant, the room was filled with a resounding boom.
Valentin blinked and saw through his own eyes as he rocked back on his heels. The explosion hit him square in the chest. The drum and baton fell from his hands, and he landed hard on his back. If not for the leather straps, the iron antlers might have hit the wall. For a moment, Valentin wondered if his neck was broken. But as he lay there, lungs heaving, heart beating wildly, and completely drained of energy he knew it wasn’t. If it were broken, he wouldn’t feel the pain of burning muscles in his arms and legs.
“Valentin?” Bradley said.
Valentin felt the ties under his chin come loose. The headdress was lifted off. As the leather straps that had draped his face fell away, Valentin opened his eyes. The ceiling above was blurry.
“Valentin,” Bradley said, sounding closer. “Are you okay?”
Still breathing hard, Valentin felt his neck twinge. His mouth was parched and his leather outfit was soaked. He needed a drink. Valentin forced his arms to move and made himself sit up. Though Bradley held out a bottle of water, Valentin managed to shake his head.
“Vodka,” he croaked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
AT FIRST TAMARA had followed the ravens, but now they followed her. Panting and out of breath, she leaned heavily against a tree. One of the evil beasts dived at her. She stumbled in the deep snow and waved her arms around her head.
“Get away from me,” she hissed and forced herself to run.
Which way is the lake?
“Not that way!” Oksana yelled from behind her.
From the start, nothing had been right: not the Institute, not the healings, not the wretched Siberian Multiverse. For a shaman from Haiti, it couldn’t be worse.
I should have stayed with Dominique.
Raucous caws sounded just to the rear, and Tamara hurriedly glanced behind. Oksana, one of the Siberian shamans, was having as much trouble as her. Both of them were heavy and sank in the snow. Only Oksana’s spirit helper seemed suited to the frozen terrain–a Siberian weasel. It hopped lightly along the white surface while Kochon, Tamara’s boar, struggled to push through on its short legs.
“Which way?” Tamara yelled, though she never stopped running.
She swiveled her head frantically, but every direction looked the same. In this cold and cursed Multiverse, she was lost. She’d barely glimpsed the glittering red feathers against the white branches when she tripped. Rotund and ungraceful at the best of times, Tamara plowed into the snow. Her face hit full f
orce and her open mouth filled with slush. Oksana and her weasel rushed by.
Tamara’s breath came in great white puffs as she pushed up from the snow. The shriek of one of the giant, ruby-colored birds pierced the air just before claws tore at her back. Tamara rolled, thinking to crush the creature, but it was too quick. A whooshing, flapping of wings was all she heard, and ice crunched under her weight. But at least she was moving. She managed to roll to her feet and nearly collided with Kochon. They both chased after Oksana.
They had followed the red ravens, charmed by their colors, dazzled by the brilliant sheen of their feathers. It wasn’t until the birds had begun to circle that Tamara realized they’d entered the forest. Though the trees were covered in snow and ice, little light was able to penetrate. The shadows were deeply black. Twisted and misshapen trunks of trees confronted her in every direction. They curved wickedly back on themselves, some in near circles. Gnarled branches stuck out at strange angles and caught her clothing as she lurched by.
Gasping and trying not to lose sight of Oksana, Tamara took a moment to wipe snow from her chin. When she finished, she realized the snow stank. Tamara gagged. Like rotting meat, the snow and everything around her had the putrid smell of decay. Her legs moved faster.
Without warning, she burst into a clearing, just behind Oksana. In the center was a hut! But rather than run for the door, Oksana had staggered to a stop, and Tamara ran into her back.
“Inside!” Tamara breathed heavily. “Away from the ravens.”
But Oksana didn’t move. She stared at the ground.
The sodden surface was trampled. Animal and human footprints were everywhere, but most of the tracks led to the hut’s covered door. Oksana backed away, forcing Tamara to do the same. Their feet made sucking sounds in the mud. With a start, Tamara realized that utter silence had descended. The birds were gone. A quick glance at the mangled trees confirmed it. Their spirit helpers had hung back as well.
When she returned her attention to the hut, the hides at the door parted and someone slowly emerged. As he straightened up, it seemed as though a bear was standing on its hind legs, impossibly tall. But it wasn’t a bear. It was a man dressed in fringed leather, and he was huge. It was easy to see how she’d mistaken him in the dark outfit. Though his black eyes stared at her and his mouth curled in a crooked smile, it wasn’t his face Tamara focused on. It was the rope he held in one hand and the butcher knife he held in the other. Only now did she see that the muddy ground around her was spattered with blood. In fact, in some places it puddled.
“Erlik,” Oksana whispered, backpedaling.
“What?” Tamara said. “Who is–”
Oksana whirled and ran. She pushed past Tamara, making her spin in place. As fast as feet could move Oksana’s bulky form, she bolted into the cover of the forest. Tamara spared one last glance for the giant man–but he was gone. She rushed after Oksana.
In a blur of red, a raven swooped in from the side–then another. But Tamara didn’t stop running. She ducked, swerved, and covered her head, but she did not stop moving. Their pointy beaks pecked at her, biting and cutting. Branches caught at her face and hair, but she ran. Despite the deepening snow, she plunged on. Oksana was barely visible through the black forest. Tamara struggled over bulging roots and scrambled under fallen logs. Anything but be alone. Anything but face that–
Again, Tamara ran into Oksana’s back. There he was, no more than twenty yards ahead, looking directly at them. As one, they backed up and glanced frantically around.
How had he done that?
A thought occurred to Tamara. Though her Multiverse power was useless against the birds, it was another matter entirely for a being who stood on two feet. She thrust her hands at the ground.
“Earthquake!” she screamed.
But as though the sky had responded instead of the earth, the air above her filled with a sudden roaring that rapidly grew louder. Snow shook down all around and even the hulking man staggered for a moment and looked up.
Something was rending the sky in two! By all the gods, it looked like a meteor! The fiery ball blazed white hot and left a widening smoke trail behind it. Like the sound of a sizzling cannonball, it tore through the air just above the treetops. Snow shivered down from the branches, and icicles fell in whole sheets. No sooner had it barreled out of view, arcing toward the ground, than an explosion rocked the Underworld. Tamara only had a moment to process the flattening trees in the distance, and then her entire world toppled end over end.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THOUGH LIVVY HAD been surprised to hear the intercom buzz, she’d been shocked to hear who was visiting.
“Colin!” Livvy said as she opened the front door. “It’s good to see you.” She searched the hallway behind him, confused. “Min’s not with you?”
“No,” Colin said. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
Puzzlement turned to apprehension. Livvy quietly shut the front door behind him. She didn’t invite Colin to sit. The pained look on his face said he wouldn’t be staying. They stood on the tile in the bright downward glare of the recessed lighting.
“What’s wrong?” Livvy asked.
“You,” he said. If he’d physically struck her, the blow couldn’t have been any worse. “I’m sorry,” he said, but in a tone that was far from apologetic.
Livvy stared at the unsmiling face. Min’s other half wasn’t all light and laughs.
“Yesterday her blood pressure spiked,” Colin said. Livvy noticed the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and the tight pinch to his mouth. “Really high.”
“Is she–”
“She’s fine now,” Colin said. “Bed rest mostly.”
“And…the baby?” Livvy held her breath.
“Fine,” Colin said. “They’re both fine.” Livvy exhaled. “But I think we both know what’s going on.”
Livvy stood still. Had SK said something to Colin about the next lightning shaman? No. SK wouldn’t do that!
“Look,” Colin said tightly. “Every time you’re around, Min is sick. I know she doesn’t want to say anything, but I have to.” Colin’s eyes bored into hers, his expression like someone who’d been trapped.
Livvy could only nod. Colin had seen the symptoms, though he didn’t know the cause.
“Look,” Colin said again. “I know you’re best friends and all–”
“She’s like the sister I–”
“And you’re a great shaman–” he said.
“I’d do anything for Min, just–”
“Stay away,” he said loudly.
Livvy knew her mouth was open and shut it.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings,” Colin said, his tone pleading. “But I have to think about Min and the baby!”
So do I, Livvy thought, though she didn’t say it.
Colin had been about to continue when Livvy held up a hand to stop him. “You’re right,” she said quietly.
Colin’s desperate face relaxed just a fraction. “Oh,” was all he said, deflating. He hung his head, shaking it as he shrugged. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said. “I really didn’t.”
“Me either,” Livvy said lowly. “Me either.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
SK SAT CROSS-legged on the hardwood floor next to Dominique. The house was small, the neighborhood low-income, and it’d taken them over an hour to reach San Pedro. But according to Dominique, it had the singular benefit of being far from Little Odessa.
As SK would have expected, she wore plain, black goggles. In her leather duster, black canvas pants and utility boots you’d think she’d be too hot. But apparently she wasn’t. Next to Dominique, in the twin bed, the client lay quiet. She was a middle-aged, Vietnamese woman whose daughter had hired them. Without any previous diagnoses of mental illness–or language proficiency–she’d begun speaking Portuguese.
Soul possession had been Dominique’s diagnosis. Based on the symptoms, SK agreed. The possessor of the soul had y
et to be determined. The family had never heard Portuguese, let alone knew anyone who spoke it. The preliminaries had been brief and Dominique had insisted they pay cash.
It’s not much money, but at least she’s still working.
After meeting her twin sister, SK knew why.
Dominique’s mid-section sucked downward. Then her jugular throbbed to life. In the bed, the client stirred. The healing had taken a turn. Often in a Multiverse journey there came a critical moment. A point where the patient was found or they weren’t; healed or not healed; they returned or they moved on. There was no going back, only forward. That point had come. The door to the bedroom was closed, and the family waited outside. In the next moment, SK was glad they were alone when the client violently convulsed. Though her eyes remained closed, she all but jackknifed in the middle.
SK laid his hand on Dominique’s.
Though he hadn’t expected electricity from the walls, he also didn’t expect Dominique’s goggles to smoke. But with a noise like twigs snapping, a small wisp of gray vapor escaped from the seam of the bulging glass lenses. Dominique’s breathing quieted and the client settled down. But Dominique must have inhaled some of the smoke. She coughed once and then again and reached up to her goggles. She ripped them off.
“What the…” she muttered.
Face flushed, eyes squinting hard, she sat up. It took a moment for her eyes to focus as she swung her gaze around the room, but they eventually landed on SK.
“What did you do?” she gasped.
SK looked at his own hand. “What I always do,” he said.
She glared at him and then his hand. “Well it yanked me right out of the Multiverse,” she said, her voice raised.
There was a knock at the door. “Dominique?” said the daughter. “Are you done?”
Dominique held her goggles away from her and covered her nose and mouth. The fumes of melted plastic and burning components had grown strong.
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