by Debra Dunbar
He eyed my fingers and backed up a few steps. “I’ll tell you the location and the wards, but then I’m out of here. I’m not risking my life further.”
I hated to zap the guy, so, instead, I poured on the pheromones, matching each of his backward steps with a forward one of my own. His eyes widened then he shook his head, pulling a small metal charm from under his shirt. The sparks against my hands sputtered and fizzled out, refusing to return. The tendrils of my sex magic swirled a foot from him, unable to penetrate the invisible barrier. He’d prepared for this meeting.
“I’m leaving. They’re at sixteen–forty St. Charles Avenue. There are alarm wards on the doors and windows, and a keep–away spell surrounding the grounds. Good luck.”
“Not so fast, Dumbledore.”
I’d prepared for this meeting, too. Steve spun around and looked down the barrel of a shotgun held in the steady hands of my best friend.
“But you said you came alone,” he sputtered. “I have a truth amulet. You didn’t lie.”
“I said there were no witches, vampires or other demons,” I corrected. “Darci is human and doesn’t practice magic. She is, however, a damned good shot, so you might want to hold very still and keep your hands where we can see them.”
I pulled out my cell phone and sent Ourson a quick text. Seconds later, the doors opened, and Irix entered, Kristin by his side.
“Kristin, would you please search Steve here and confiscate all his magical items? Be careful, I’m not sure what he’s got on him.”
I turned to Irix, wrapping an arm around his waist. It felt good just to be next to him again.
“Ready to fight?” I relayed what I’d learned from the apprentice.
“What about him?” Irix nodded toward Steve. There was an amazing pile of charms, amulets and little colored bags at the apprentice’s feet.
“I’m thinking of asking one of the vampires to watch him. I don’t really want to drag him along with us, but I don’t trust that he won’t tip them off that we’re coming.”
“I’ll just take a few of these things with me then.” Kristin had finished her thorough pat–down and stuffed two amulets, a scroll, and several of the colored bags into the pockets of her cargo pants.
“I’d watch him, but I’ve got to get this shotgun back to my Dad,” Darci commented. “The storm’s picking up, so I’ll probably just stay there.”
Irix nodded. “Let’s get moving then, before the storm worsens.”
Inexplicably, the storm had dramatically increased since I had entered the warehouse. Gusts yanked my hair from its barrette and tangled wet strands around my face. The rain pelted us with cold hard drops as we raced to the car. Thankfully the Cadillac had good handling in bad weather. We crammed as many witches and vampires as we could into the sedan, while others did the same with their cars and trucks. It wasn’t the most dignified way to travel, but it was the most efficient.
Stealth wasn’t necessary as we pulled up and parked across the street from the St. Charles Avenue house. The rain had begun to flood the road, and several inches of standing water, plus the weather forecast, meant that we were the only ones out. The huge pepto–pink Victorian house seemed like an unlikely spot to hold a magical ceremony. I checked the address, just to make sure.
“It’s the right place,” Kristin whispered, holding up an amulet. It glowed green. “There’s a ton of magical energy going on in there.”
We climbed from the cars like clowns at a circus, some circling around to the back of the house, as we’d agreed earlier. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle, like it was gathering strength for one massive strike. Grateful for the reprieve, Kristin, Ourson, and I stood by the black wrought–iron fencing that surrounded the house lawn.
“It’s all spelled, just as that guy said.” Kristin once again held the amulet in front of the iron gate.
I held out a hand, wondering what a keep–away spell did, and was immediately seized with a massive headache and an urge to puke. Fighting against it, I touched the iron and found myself across the street, climbing into the passenger seat of the Cadillac. So that’s what it did. How the heck were we going to break that? I couldn’t even touch it. Then there was the alarm function on the doors and windows that Kristin explained wouldn’t just let Crimson Moon know we were trying to get in, but would prevent any kind of lock picking — magical or physical.
I crossed the street to where Ourson and Kristin stood. Everyone was in place awaiting our signal, and we didn’t have time to sit around and brainstorm options. I needed to decide what to do, and decide it fast. As I always did when faced with a huge decision, I looked around for Irix and realized I hadn’t seen him since we’d gotten out of the car.
What I did see was headlights from something big headed towards us. Given that we were standing in front of a house, I acted.
“Get out of the way!”
Ourson grabbed Kristin and moved with a blur of speed to the corner. I followed, nearly as fast. There was a huge crash, and the iron gate, along with three sections of fencing, went flying as a delivery truck smashed through it and into the front yard. Not stopping, the truck sped ahead, avoiding the steps to the front door and driving straight into the front of the house.
Irix had taken care of the wards, in what I was coming to learn was typical demon style. “Tell the others to move in,” I instructed Kristin, rushing forward.
There was just enough room between the truck and the jagged edges of smashed siding and drywall for me to squeeze through. Irix was punching his way through on the other side.
“Hurry!”
I hurried. We may not have set off the alarm spell, since Irix had avoided the doors and windows, but I was pretty sure everyone had heard a huge truck smashing through the house.
“To the left!” Kristin shouted, holding the amulet in one hand as she tried in vain to squeeze through the tight opening into the house. I paused just long enough to see Ourson smash his fist through the drywall, widening the space, before I took off.
A narrow hall led to a set of double doors with elegant brass handles. Irix lowered his shoulder and crashed through them in a remarkable imitation of the delivery truck. The room was huge, and in the center was a group of robed figures standing inside a series of circles and pentagrams etched into the floor.
“Hold steady!” A man shouted. I recognized his voice.
The casters returned to their positions, taking up a chant. I ran forward, unsure whether I’d be able to enter their circle or not.
Not. I bounced off what seemed to be an invisible wall and flew backwards to plow into Irix. We sprawled on the floor in a heap.
“Curtain!” Basteau called out.
Blackness fell over the room, so dark that I truly couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The chanting seemed to come from the left, then the right. I was sightless and couldn’t even use my hearing to pinpoint their location. Not that I could do much with the magical wall that surrounded them.
Orange orbs glowed in front of me, and I jumped. Irix was underneath me on the floor, so it wasn’t the demon with the freaky eyes. My hands crackled with electricity, but I held back, waiting for the monster to attack.
“Cool stuff these Crimson Moon people have,” Kristin said cheerfully. “Watch this.”
I couldn’t watch anything. All I could see were her weird eyes, blinking in and out. Something came in front of them, blocking them from my view momentarily, and then I heard a series of screams disrupt the chant. With a ‘whoosh’ the blackness fell, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden return of light.
Inside the circle people frantically shed robes that seemed to be dissolving right off their bodies. Basteau screamed for them to resume, but no one listened. That’s when I noticed that their clothing wasn’t the only thing disappearing. The etchings on the floor smoked, huge gashes burning their way through the marble.
“Now!” I shouted.
The other witches and vampires had made it into
the room and had been equally blind, but now everyone ran forward, dragging various members of Crimson Moon out by their shredded robes. Irix and I ignored them and headed for Basteau.
His eyes widened when he saw me, and then narrowed. I braced myself, thinking he would launch some magical attack at us, but, instead, he turned and ran. I could have easily caught him, but I didn’t want to put on the elven speed and leave Irix in the dust. Catching Basteau wasn’t the problem, it was what I was supposed to do once I had him. Electricity was pretty much all I had. I didn’t want to kill him, and ever since I’d incinerated that elf in Hel, I was reluctant to produce anything stronger than a static shock.
Irix might not be as fast as I was, but he was certainly quicker than a middle–aged mage who had been posing as a banker. We gained on Basteau, following him through the connecting rooms of the vast house. As we neared what had to be the rear room, I put on a burst of speed, unwilling to let him escape outside.
“Amber, no!”
Irix knocked me aside with his arm, sending me into a round table. Pain lanced through my side, and I gasped, trying to regain my balance. Instead of me, Irix had gone through the doorway, unable to stop his momentum. He now stood frozen inside an inscribed series of triangles. I heard a mocking laugh, then a series of words in a language I recognized but couldn’t speak.
I had no idea what Basteau was casting, but it most certainly wasn’t good. The triangles crossed the threshold. I’d be unable to enter the room without stepping into the same trap as Irix. There might be another way in, but I had no time to search for it. I wished I had the delivery truck to crash through the walls. The flimsy round table I’d whacked my side on probably wouldn’t make a dent in the dry wall. There was only one way in. If I failed, at least I’d suffer the same fate as Irix — whether that be banishment or a fiery death.
I walked forward and felt a sharp jolt as I entered the center of the triangle.
And then I walked right out to the other side.
Basteau abruptly stopped chanting, his mouth wide open. “How … why? What are you?”
I wasn’t about to tell him. Instead I said one of the few phrases I knew in Elvish. “Feallendlith gal–moed.”
Nyalla told me it meant something like ‘rotted whore’ and was considered a terrible insult to both genders. She must have spoken true, because Basteau recoiled, and his face grew ashen.
“Stay right where you are, or I’ll fry you.” I didn’t want to kill him. Well, I did want to kill him, but none of the robed individuals in the other room had white hair, and we needed to find Weaver.
Basteau raised his hands in that universal gesture of surrender. Then he spun around and bolted.
Before I could think, I’d launched something at him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t my standard stream of electricity. The blast left my hand and hit the mage, blowing him into a spray of red chunks that decorated walls, ceiling, floor, and me. The only one spared was Irix, who was in the spelled triangle. I shook the blood and bits of flesh off my hands, looking for something reasonably clean with which to wipe my face.
“Elf–girl, when you stepped into this banishing ward, I was ready to kill you myself. What were you thinking?”
I had no time for Irix’s scolding. I’d blown up the only man who probably knew Weaver’s whereabouts. Even if he’d been a summoned demon, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t go on with death and destruction. Hopefully an angel would get him. In the meantime, I was covered with gore, and my own demon was still trapped.
“How do I get you out of there?”
Irix pivoted around, looking down at the floor. “Does Kristin have any more of those acid spells? We need something to break the lines, and since they’re drawn into the floor they’ll need to be dug across or burned out.”
I walked through, trying to ignore the sting of the barrier as I crossed. In the other room, the witches and vampires had corralled the half–naked Crimson Moon members into a corner. Kristin gasped when she saw me, bringing a hand to her chest.
“I’m okay. This isn’t my blood — It’s Basteau’s. I accidently blew him up.”
That didn’t seem to faze the witch one bit.
“Irix?” Her voice trembled.
“He’s fine too, just trapped in a bunch of triangles. You wouldn’t happen to have any more of that acid stuff, would you?”
She strode past me, red–blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. I followed her and watched as she traced the lines of the triangle with her finger.
“Amazing. Usually crossing it or breaking it with a touch will allow the entrapped being to escape. There must be some sort of incantation needed to open the barrier.”
I watched her in amazement. “How do you know all this? I mean, you’re Wiccan.”
Kristin brushed the red curls from her forehead and gave me an embarrassed smile. “I’ve path hopped a lot in my life. Golden Dawn, Voodoo, Shamanism, Wicca — I’ve dabbled in it all.”
She seemed to have done more than dabble, but I held my tongue. She turned back and touched the outer line of the series of triangles once more.
“Salt.”
I spread my hands and looked to either side of me. Table, lamp, chair, sofa, and a bookshelf.
“I don’t usually carry it with me. Should I go search for the kitchen?”
“No need.” Kristin reached into one of the pockets of her cargo pants and pulled out a plastic bag full of white grains. “Girl’s gotta be prepared for anything, you know?”
Yes I did. Kristin spread the salt on the portions of the triangle lines that crossed the threshold, and then rubbed it in, as if she were scrubbing the floors. Sitting back, she surveyed the mess of gritty white on the oak floors.
“There. Come on out, you sexy beast.”
Irix winked at the redhead and stepped through the barrier. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Then I grabbed him and held him like I never wanted to let him go. I’d been so scared, so worried that he would be banished, killed, trapped in this pink Victorian house forever. His arms came around me, and for a few moments all I knew was his scent, the warmth of his flesh against mine. I wanted to stay wrapped in his arms for all eternity, but our job wasn’t finished.
“Weaver is still out there somewhere.” I said, pulling back from our embrace.
“Demon or not, we’ve got a city threatened by this storm,” Kristin chimed in. “Those Crimson Moon folks agreed to work with us to try and diffuse it, but I’m still worried about the levee spells.”
I looked up at Irix, into his golden eyes. “To the levees?”
His face was all hard angles as he met my gaze, looking every inch the two–thousand–year–old demon. “Yes, but we take Ourson to stand guard as we work. Just in case.”
* * *
37
The Cadillac felt like a paper boat tossed in the ocean as we drove through the flooded streets toward the Mississippi River. Rain pelted down in hard sheets, breaking every few seconds to take a breath. I clutched the seat, grinding my teeth as we hydroplaned our way along the roadway.
Irix had insisted that Ourson ride shotgun, which pissed me off to no end. I was safely in the back like precious china, wrapped in the leather coat the incubus had insisted I take from him. I seethed until we pulled up to the curb.
“Lights, camera, action, elf–girl. Let’s get a move on.”
Ourson stood guard as Irix and I staggered our way through the wind and rain to the levee. The process of breaking the spells was second nature to me by this point. We worked our way through three of the spells as the storm gained ferocity. Whatever Kristin and the others were doing, it didn’t seem to be working. We were on the edge of a hurricane, and if we couldn’t break these spells, the city would be in danger. It was a race against time, and even with Irix’s huge store of energy fueling me, I worried we’d be too little, too late.
As we pulled up to the aquarium, parking on Canal Street. I had a moment of nostalgia for Café du
Monde beignets and Irix’s house just a few blocks away. Opening the car door, I stepped out into the wind and rain. Not that it mattered. I was already soaked from the last four locations.
I’d barely taken four steps before a weight hit me from behind, knocking me into the sodden grass. My nose and mouth filled with cold, damp dirt, but I felt heat across my back.
“Mage,” Ourson shouted.
I heard the splash of running through the flooded grasses, and Irix’s weight lifted off me. I rolled over, smelling the distinctive aroma of burnt fiber and flesh. The demon had burns across one side of his face. Half of his shirt and pants had been singed and partially melted to his body. Polyester really sucked when it came to fire.
“Holy shit. Are you okay?” I reached up to touch Irix’s blistered face.
He jerked his head at my touch. “Fine. Ourson has got this guy. Come on, we’ve got to get moving. Sixteen more spells to go.”
I got it. He didn’t want to expend energy on fixing his injuries when we had work to do, and a potential demon on the loose. I gripped his chin in my hand and ran my fingers gently over his burn. “Then let’s go, sweetheart.”
We fought against the wind gusts, past the aquarium and down the riverside path. Once in place, I reached down into the seawall, deep below to where the spell had its roots. It was hard to concentrate with my soaked clothes plastered to my skin, shivering as the rain and wind lashed against me. Even the leather jacket was drenched. A gust of wind tossed my wet hair to the side, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure cresting the top of the levee. In spite of the dark and the rain, I knew it wasn’t Ourson.
“Wait.” I said, grabbing Irix’s arm.
He followed my gaze and instantly moved to stand in front of me. It was too late. The flickering light from the aquarium patio had caught the man, and I saw his white hair. Worse, he saw me.
Weaver spat out a stream of Elvish. Irix tensed, his hands curling into fists. The white–haired man wasn’t a demon; he was an elf. He’s like you, Jordan had said, and I’d never considered the possibility that she meant Weaver was like my elven half.
