“Now that we’re here,” Dominique said, “we need to take a look.” Nicole didn’t look convinced. “It’s the first rule of guerrilla engagement. Know your terrain.” Dominique took her sister by the arm. “Come on,” she said, dragging her past the edge of the forest.
Once clear of the trees, Dominique came to a halt. Nicole must have seen them too because Dominique didn’t stumble into her as she backpedaled.
“Where did they all come from?” Nicole whispered, clutching Dominique’s shoulder from behind.
“I don’t know,” Dominique replied as they both hid behind the closest tree.
Siberian shamans were everywhere–dozens of them–most stood next to a deep blue lake. Dominique took stock. They had to have a network box.
“Let’s go,” Nicole whispered in her ear.
Dominique’s spirit helper swooped down from the tops of the trees. With a flapping whoosh, the raven settled on a branch above them. Dominique put a finger to her lips.
“Silence, Nwa,” she said quietly.
But as soon as she’d finished, a loud cawing erupted. Confused for a moment, Dominique could only stare at him, but Nwa cocked his head and looked up. Three enormous, red ravens sailed by high overhead, heading toward the lake and the shamans.
“They’re beautiful,” Nicole said, emerging from behind the tree to follow them.
Dominique grabbed her and yanked her back. “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered harshly. She needed to keep her sister focused. And they did need to understand the terrain, preferably as far away from the pack of shamans as possible.
Though a frozen river wound past the forest’s edge to their right, beyond it an imposing glacier emerged from a narrow canyon. The craggy gorge had been carved from a thick rock ledge that descended steeply from the towering mountains that ringed the lake.
Dominique pointed to the far side of the gorge. “Can you get us up there?” she said.
Nicole followed the line of sight. “Of course,” she said.
She painted with long, broad strokes finishing in several seconds. They moved through a rounded, stone archway and stepped onto the cliff. A stiff wind whipped at Nicole’s sweats and swept back Dominique’s leather duster. The view was commanding. Nwa circled high above them. Dominique held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Nicole tugged on Dominique’s sleeve. Her sister was pointing emphatically down below. On the flat gravel beach and the snowy parcel that stretched away from it, Dominique saw what they couldn’t see from their forest vantage point. There weren’t dozens of shamans. There were hundreds.
Nicole began painting.
“What are you doing?” Dominique asked.
“We’re getting out of here,” Nicole replied, not turning around.
“Hold on,” Dominique said, but Nicole ignored her. “I said, hold on.”
She grabbed Nicole’s arm, forcing her to stop. She’d been painting the dense trees where they’d first appeared.
“We may never have a chance like this again,” Dominique said.
“But–”
“We have the element of surprise,” Dominique said as she looked at the vast crowd below.
How they were all here together, she couldn’t fathom. There wasn’t a network box in the world that’d be big enough. But it didn’t matter. They were here.
“No wonder the nkondi worked,” Nicole said.
Dominique eyed her sister for a moment. She was right. It was bound to work. If they could only have found one, they’d have found them all. As she studied them, Dominique realized there were clients scattered all over. The shamans were mostly working in groups. There were spirit helpers as well. From this distance they were difficult to make out, but many of them appeared to be weasels or ferrets of some kind.
“They’re so close together,” Nicole said.
Dominique nodded. This would require some finesse. Unfortunately, finesse had never been her strong suit.
Water wasn’t just a healing power. It had the force of nature behind it. Like her, it was not subtle. She looked down the steep precipice to their right. Nicole had landed them at the tip of a promontory. There was barely room for the two of them to stand together. The ice field of the glacier was far from uniform. In fact, from this vantage point, it was obviously fracturing. Deep crevasses of bright aqua became indigo at their depths. Far below them was the faint sound of rushing water. Where the glacier met the canyon floor, water was running.
“Be ready,” Dominique said.
Nicole resumed painting.
Dominique reached out her hand to the glacier.
“Water,” she said.
For several seconds, nothing changed. But then, at the far end of the ice field, the tiniest movement became visible. The ice there shifted down and to the right. Then ice next to it did the same. Dominique moved her hand left to right, directing the flow of the icy water below the glacier. It burrowed like an underground drill, moving downslope and creating a tunnel. Without support from below, the ice above the hole had to collapse. Moving slowly at first, the rut picked up speed as it reached the less densely packed snow. It split in two, heading toward the crowd. The two ruts each split in two. Then the four lengthening furrows became eight. Dominique smiled at how easy it was.
Next to her, Nicole had finished painting.
Down below, the parallel troughs were nearly there. Dominique swept her hand right, finishing with a flourish. The furrows shot right under dozens of shamans and their clients. Though most were too far away to really see, the shaman closest to them was visible. The snow beneath her feet gave way so fast, her arms shot into the air above her head. Apparently she’d been wearing a cap because it levitated above her hair in the empty space. Nicole laughed out loud and Nwa cawed his appreciation from the sky.
But by the time the rut had reached the shaman, the snow pack wasn’t as thick. She’d dropped abruptly but stopped after only a few feet. The shaman swiveled her head and homed in on their position. Nicole stopped laughing as the Siberian shaman pointed at them.
“Uh oh,” Dominique and Nicole said together.
Though the ground shook, it wasn’t much by earthquake standards. Neither she nor Nicole had any trouble keeping their balance. Dominique squinted at the shaman in the distance. She was weak. Dominique had just been about to wave at the woman when the ground around them changed. Small mounds of sand popped up from the surface of the rocky promontory. Like tiny volcanoes, they spread everywhere. Then, all at once, they erupted. Beetles poured out. They spewed forth in gigantic black waves. Though small, their clicking, macerating mandibles were clearly visible. In moments they were on her utility boots.
“By all the gods–” Dominique began as Nicole yanked her hard.
One moment it seemed they were sailing off the cliff, but in the next they were tumbling in the snow of the forest. As Dominique scrambled to her feet, covered with icy powder, she yanked Nicole up to stand next to her. In the snow, the few beetles that had made it through were easily visible.
Dominique stomped every last one of them into mush. By the time she’d finished, Nicole was simply watching with arms folded in front of her.
Dominique gave her duster a shake and repositioned it around her neck. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you on the flip side.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
TAMARA STIFLED A whimper. Erlik had returned. She and her two fellow prisoners could hear him outside. The three of them were hogtied and hung from the center rafter–wrists and ankles bound above them and butts dangling down.
The shaman to her left warbled deep in her throat–maybe a prayer. Oksana, to her right, only cried.
They ought to know better.
The hides at the entrance had been moved aside, allowing some light. Then they fell closed. Shoulder to shoulder, Tamara felt the shuddering of Oksana. Earlier struggles had proved pointless. Though Tamara would have gnawed through her arms to escape, the cloth that had
been stuffed in her mouth and tied down prevented that. There was only one escape, and it waited down below.
The fear that originally blanked Tamara’s mind had sunk into her spine. Though her heart pounded, she didn’t move. Though she felt like she was choking, she constricted her throat. The pain in her wrists and ankles–and her shoulders and hips–was nothing. Only her nostrils flared.
Erlik’s feet padded heavily across the small rugs and stopped where Tamara knew the cauldron to be. Though they weren’t directly over it, the stench assailed her nose. She heard a log land among the others and the firelight in the hut flared. A few crazy embers floated up past them and out through the opening in the roof. The shaman to her left went silent but Oksana began to sob. They all knew what was next. Despite the terror that claimed her, Tamara couldn’t help but notice the one characteristic that the three of them shared: They were all plump.
With a rattling, bone jarring thunk, the crude ladder landed on the rafter. Tamara shut her eyes. He was climbing.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“SO, VALENTIN,” SIDIROV said. “Tell me. What is happening in my stable?” Sidirov watched his old friend.
“Two shamans,” Valentin said. “They appear and disappear. They’re–”
“Ruining business,” Sidirov said, standing up behind his desk. “You’ve heard of the internet, no?”
Valentin only glared stiffly at him.
“And did you know,” Sidirov said, as he came around the desk, “that customers are leaving ratings for us there?”
“No,” Valentin said.
“No, my friend,” Sidirov said. “Of course you didn’t. That’s not your job.”
Sidirov maneuvered his bulk to stand next to his thin friend and put an arm around his neck. For a moment he paused. Valentin’s body was hard as a rock, and his face–Sidirov leaned closer–that of a man decades younger. Despite their proximity, Valentin turned his head. Their noses were almost touching. Sidirov smiled.
“So, old friend,” Sidirov said. “What is your job?”
“Leave the shamans to me,” Valentin said, not really an answer.
“Yes, the shamans,” Sidirov said. He let Valentin go. “It might interest you to know that the Lightning Shaman was here before the attacks.”
Valentin’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?” he said.
“Like they say in the old country,” Sidirov said, “trouble never comes alone.”
The witch was up to something. Sidirov felt it.
Valentin’s eyes narrowed to dark slits. If Sidirov could have heard his mind, it’d have been whirring.
“And?” Valentin asked, drawing the word out.
Sidirov returned to his desk and flopped into the chair. The pneumatic piston bottomed out.
“As the sun’s shadow shifts,” Sidirov said, “so do we. Consider it a warning, old friend.”
Sidirov had already given the orders. There would be no more half measures.
• • • • •
Wan-li had heard the shattering glass from her office, then came the shouting and screams. She flew out the double doors and dashed frantically down the stairs, stopping just in time. The large, colorful fish of the aquarium lay flopping at her feet. Seconds later they were trampled by the crush of patrons. They pushed one another in the back trying to get out the front door to the left.
To the right, a large man in a black polo shirt was swinging a baseball bat at the cash register. The bat smashed into its side, crushing the thin metal before launching the whole machine into the wall. Coins flew everywhere, pinging crazily off the counter.
“That is enough,” Wan-li yelled. She jumped into the crowd, pushing against the stream. “Out of my way!”
She shoved them aside and emerged from the back just in time to see the man disappear into the kitchen.
Not the equipment.
But the bashing had already started by the time she hurtled through the swinging door. The cooks were rushing out into the back alley. Food lay scattered everywhere. The man was beating the center cooktop, the bat bouncing high in the air. Wan-li rushed him with a wild cry and jumped on his back.
Though he straightened up and whirled, she managed to hang on. They veered wildly, careening into shelves, knocking them over. Pots and pans that hung from wire racks clattered around her head. Something cut into her ear. But only when she scratched at his eyes, did the bat swing toward her. With one hand, he swung it backwards over his head. As she let go, it narrowly missed her, and he slammed himself between the shoulders. He bellowed and spun around.
As she found her feet, Wan-li briefly staggered but then crouched, breathing hard. The man gripped the bat with both hands. Wan-li quickly reached up to her hair bun and snatched the tasseled ornament. A long steel pin came with it. She smiled grimly at the attacker and waved it in front of her like a knife. She motioned to him to come for her.
His puzzled frown turned into a smile. He switched the bat from one hand to the other and reached out to the ruined cooktop. Their eyes locked, neither of them looked over. But he brought his find up between them–a carving knife about a foot long.
Wan-li glanced at her hairpin. Then she turned and ran.
• • • • •
“Robert?” Ursula said. He hadn’t answered the buzzer, and he wasn’t at the door. “Robert?” she tried again.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It was quiet, too quiet. Without realizing it, she’d crept down the stairs. The short, dim hall was empty. There was no noise from the restaurant. At the back of the building, there were no sounds from the alley. Robert wasn’t there, and for some reason the grating stood open.
“No,” she muttered and dashed to the doorway.
She grabbed the telescoping security lattice and slammed it closed. The crisscrossing metal covered the opening, but it didn’t latch. Ursula grabbed frantically at the handle, trying to get it to close. It wasn’t lined up. She opened it slightly and then slammed it again. A shadow crossed the gate.
She opened it again and slammed it so hard her fingers felt like they had broken. She heard the lock catch and threw the bolt with a twist of the lever. A dark figure appeared directly in front of her, backlit. Something glinted through the opening of the grating. Ursula frantically twisted away just as the gun went off.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
LIVVY CONCENTRATED ON her altar. She stood in front of her dresser, the top drawer already open. Just the thought of what she needed to do caused an ache in her chest. She steadied herself with a hand on top of the chest of drawers. In her pants pocket was the polished amethyst heart SK had carried, and it had to come out.
Instantly, pain pulsed behind her breastbone. She sucked in a quick breath, held it, and reached in for the stone.
Don’t think about what you’re doing. Think about anything else.
She stared hard at every item on the altar, each with its own significance. But the most precious of the sacred objects were the ones that her fellow shamans had given her. At the center of the top tier was the sage bundle that Alvina had made. A thin leather cord bound small amethyst crystals to the leafy stalks of aromatic herbs. Next to it was the voodoo doll–a miniature version of herself–a gift from Ursula.
Livvy began to slide the polished stone from her pocket. The pain in her chest ramped up and she hissed. Tears burned in her eyes. The voodoo doll was just a blur.
Concentrate. The doll is from Ursula. Livvy pictured her behind the herbal counter.
The amethyst heart was almost out of her pocket, but the pain rose higher, forcing a low moan from Livvy’s lips. Her eyes shut involuntarily. The image of Ursula hovered for a moment and then Nicole’s paintings behind her. They were like the murals at the Institute, where intercessors weren’t allowed.
“SK,” she said between clenched teeth.
Livvy dragged the amethyst nearly out of her pocket and moaned. The pain in her chest was like a hot poker.
“Don’t stop,” she hissed. I
t’ll only be harder if you stop.
With one last heave, she drew the stone out.
Though she couldn’t look at it, she gripped it in her sweaty hand. It had to go in the drawer, but it seemed too heavy to lift. She panted with the strain. Her entire arm shook. She could barely breathe past the awful searing around her heart. Livvy used both hands to lift the little stone. It had to go all the way in the back, next to the leather pouch.
Concentrate on the pouch. The amethyst heart belonged there with the secret necromancy objects. She tried to concentrate, but without warning, a sharp pain drilled into her. Livvy groaned loudly at the thought of whom she’d tried to keep the secret from. No matter what she did, it always came back to him. Her groan went up an octave as the pain continued to climb, until she couldn’t hold it in.
“SK!” she screamed as she pitched forward.
The dresser drawer slammed closed as her knees buckled. She threw her arms out, trying to avert her fall, but only succeeded in scattering the sacred objects everywhere. She slid sideways off the edge and the carpet rushed up. Hip first, she thudded into the floor and crashed onto her side. For a moment everything was black, but she didn’t lose consciousness. Her lungs labored to bring in enough air. But other than that she lay still, without the energy to move. As the burning in her chest subsided, Livvy felt her heart pounding, straining to keep up with her breathing. It beat so fast that it momentarily fluttered. She opened her eyes but didn’t move.
Disorientation reigned for several seconds. Carpet filaments loomed large and out of focus. Her myriad altar objects littered the floor. The sage bundle must have come apart because several amethyst crystals lay scattered, a few of them in a narrow shaft of sunlight. Though she wasn’t sure she could manage it, Livvy knew she had to get up. As her heartbeat and breathing approached normal, Livvy used both hands to push upright. Her hip screamed in protest but she managed to sit up. Leaning heavily on her arm for support, she took in a deep breath and brushed the hair out of her face. As far as she could tell she hadn’t broken anything. She took a moment to orient herself.
Shaman, Lover, Warrior: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (Olivia Lawson Techno-Shaman Book 5) Page 16
