by Doty, J. L.
Katherine turned away from the window and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “He’s got a point. Or two, or three. Twice now, in as many days, Paul and I have nearly been possessed by something very horrible. If he weren’t afraid and angry and upset like me, I’d doubt his sanity.”
With Katherine on his side Paul felt a little calmer. He lowered his voice and said to Salisteen, “Sorry about the profanity.”
Salisteen smiled. “Apology accepted. Now, let’s get some breakfast into you. You’ll feel better with a full stomach.”
Salisteen turned to the servant and asked him to scramble some eggs, toast some bread and fry up some ham. Paul sat down at the table and someone shoved a cup of coffee in front of him. He’d definitely feel better with a full stomach, but that wouldn’t make him willing to raise any more dead, though he didn’t voice that thought.
He asked, “What the heck happened last night?”
Stowicz said, “You raised half the dead in that cemetery.”
“How’d I do that?”
McGowan grimaced. “Translating old Latin is a bit problematic. We think we used the plural when we should have used the singular, so it turned into an open ended incantation. With one of us, it wouldn’t have been as spectacular. But with you . . .”
Paul wanted to forget the previous evening. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not doing anything like that again.”
The four older practitioners traded glances, and McGowan said, “I hate to play the Cloe card, Paul, but I have to.”
Colleen sat down opposite him. “From what you and Katherine describe, it appears something is haunting the dead girl’s souls. We think it’s a powerful demon, quite possibly a primus caste. It must gain some power from them, or some strength here in the Mortal Realm, and those young girls can’t pass on unless we free them. And with your help we can end this sooner rather than later.”
Stowicz said, “We can do it without you, but it’ll take a lot longer. And that’s time during which he’ll take the lives and souls of more little girls.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “And every one of their deaths will be because you failed to act.”
Colleen turned on Stowicz angrily. “That’s not fair, Charlie.”
“No,” he said, “it’s not. But it’s true. And it had to be said.”
They had Katherine and Paul relate in detail exactly what they’d experienced in the graveyard. Paul told them what he could, though he didn’t tell them of the disgusting sexual nature that permeated the experience. If a man could understand rape, Paul thought he might now have some small idea of what it truly must be like. When Katherine told her story she was subdued and she also edited out a few embarrassing details, and he suspected there were other bits he didn’t know about, bits she didn’t want to discuss with anyone.
When she finished no one spoke for the longest moment, then Stowicz growled. “You’re holding something back. Both of you. What is it?”
Katherine got up and stormed out of the room. Paul hurt too much to do any storming, so he looked Stowicz in the eyes and lied his ass off. “I’ve told you everything.”
Stowicz glared at him angrily while Colleen got up and followed Katherine.
~~~
Katherine went out through some French doors onto one of the mansion’s patios, stood in the shade and tried to focus her thoughts. It had been rape; she could put no other name to it. And yet there had been pleasure too, even if purely physical and only briefly. And she wondered what kind of deviant person she must be that she found pleasure in rape.
One of the French doors opened and Colleen stepped out onto the patio. She stood there for a moment saying nothing.
“It kind of . . . raped me,” Katherine said. “Not an ordinary rape, and . . .”
Colleen let the silence hang for a moment, then said, “And you felt some pleasure, though it would have been purely physical.”
Katherine couldn’t meet Colleen’s eyes. “You know what happened?”
“Not really, my dear. But powerful demons always try to seduce with pleasure. They don’t truly understand we mortals, don’t understand the emotional connection that comes with love. They can give intense physical pleasure on a whim, but not the emotional attachment that makes it a truly joyful experience. A normal, healthy mortal like you—and Paul—are disgusted by it, whereas a thrall is seduced by it, and only wants more.”
Katherine couldn’t hold it in any longer and unwanted tears streamed down her cheeks. Colleen wrapped her arms around her, and the tears turned to open sobs.
“Don’t tell the others,” Katherine pleaded.
“No, my dear. Of course not. And Salisteen and I’ll make sure those two foolish old men know to let it be.”
~~~
Just as Colleen left the kitchen one of Salisteen’s security suits walked in, leaned close to her and whispered something in her ear. Her eyebrows lifted with a look of surprise, and she asked, “You didn’t invite him in, did you?”
He frowned at her and said with a touch of irritation in his voice, “Of course not.”
She ignored his irritation and said, “If he’s willing to give us his complete parole, plainly spoken, then admit him. You know the formula. Bring him to the library, and ask Colleen and Katherine to join us. I believe they’re out back.”
The suit nodded, turned and left the room. Salisteen turned to McGowan and Stowicz. “Cadilus is here.”
Both reacted with a frown. Paul asked, “Who’s Cadilus?”
Salisteen said, “High Chancellor to the Seelie Court. An extremely powerful Sidhe mage and warrior. He’s Magreth’s right-hand man.”
Stowicz growled, “I don’t like this one bit.”
McGowan stood. “None of us do. Let’s go see what he wants.”
The library was a large room with a large fireplace centered in one wall and a lot of books lining the rest. Subdued lighting gave the room an air of quiet and calm. There were several wingback chairs with small end-tables distributed among them, each with a reading lamp on it. Salisteen took a seat in one of the wingback chairs, much like a queen on her throne, while McGowan and Stowicz stood to one side. Paul picked out a chair farther back in the room and sat down. When Colleen and Katherine entered, Colleen chose a chair next to Salisteen, and Katherine walked over to stand by Paul.
Paul recognized Cadilus immediately as pointy-ears, the Sidhe who’d abducted him and Katherine off the streets of San Francisco. To Paul Cadilus looked like a British diplomat. He wore an expensive, conservatively cut, dark, pinstripe suit, white shirt, dark tie. He didn’t have a Bowler hat, but he did carry a silver-tipped walking stick. His nose, cheeks and jaw line could only be described as aristocratic, with dark hair that had just the right hint of gray at the temples. A few months ago when Paul had last seen him his ears had been pointed and his eyes slitted vertically like those of a cat. But now both ears and eyes appeared normal, probably due to some glamour he had affected.
When the suit escorted him into the library he turned immediately to Colleen and Salisteen. He bowed deeply and said in a refined accent, “Lady Armaugh. Lady Salisteen.”
“Lord Cadilus,” Salisteen said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you among us mortals?”
Since Paul was located behind and to one side of Colleen and Salisteen, Cadilus didn’t have to turn to look at him. He merely lifted his eyes slightly, pale green eyes that looked at Paul with the intensity of spot lights. Cadilus said to Salisteen, “Why, with four such powerful practitioners gathered in one place . . .” He pointedly turned his head slightly toward McGowan and Stowicz to acknowledge their presence, but his eyes never left Paul. “. . . such a gathering would naturally draw the interest of the Seelie Court.”
Salisteen laughed like a schoolgirl flirting with a handsome young man. “I think the interest of the Seelie Court goes far beyond us four.”
He smiled and spoke with feigned innocence. “I can’t imagine what would eclipse the fou
r of you.”
He looked pointedly at Katherine. “Miss McGowan,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure to set eyes on such a beautiful young woman. And your companion—” He pointedly looked at Paul. “—the young wizard.”
Cadilus turned his head slightly, as if moving his gaze to Salisteen, but his eyes remained locked on Paul. “Would the young man be responsible for that rather dramatic incident last night?”
McGowan stepped forward. “I am responsible because he is my apprentice, and he was acting under my tutelage.”
Stowicz said, “And mine.”
Colleen said, “And mine.”
Salisteen said, “And mine.”
Cadilus continued to stare at Paul as his eyes narrowed. “All of Faerie wonders what danger his presence on the Mortal Plane brings upon us.”
McGowan laughed. “That is the conundrum, isn’t it. Is he a danger to us all? Or is he here to protect us from a danger to us all? Are we in more danger with him, or without him?”
Cadilus’ gaze remained locked on Paul. “Until he learns the proper use of his necromantic abilities, he is a danger to us all.”
On impulse Paul stood and walked the few paces necessary to stand beside Colleen and Salisteen. He didn’t want to appear to be hiding behind them, as if he needed their protection, though he probably did. “And who will teach me the proper use of my necromantic abilities? You?”
Cadilus’ face stiffened with anger, “There has never been a necromancer among the fey.”
Paul nodded and grinned unpleasantly. He kept his eyes locked on Cadilus, and for some reason he now saw through the fellow’s glamour, saw the amber irises of his vertically slit pupils. “Exactly. And there hasn’t been a necromancer on the Mortal Plane for twelve hundred years. So I guess we’re bound to stumble about a bit here. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more dramatic incidents like last night.”
Cadilus eyes narrowed and he stared at Paul for a long moment, then turned to McGowan. “While we do not practice necromancy, we may be able to offer some guidance, perhaps through old texts in our possession.”
He waited, but McGowan didn’t respond. When it became clear McGowan wasn’t going to, Cadilus added, “But there will be a price.”
McGowan’s lips curled upward ever so faintly, almost a smile, but not quite. But again the old man gave no response.
After a moment of silence, Cadilus turned back to Salisteen, switched the charm of the British diplomat back on and smiled. “By your leave, I must report to my queen. May I go there directly?”
She nodded. “As long as you remain true to your parole.”
He bowed deeply, like a courtier of the eighteenth century. “Of course, dear lady.”
As he straightened Paul sensed a shift in reality, an odd twist down a spiral track that left him with a slight sense of vertigo. And by the time Cadilus had straightened fully, he was no longer in the room.
Paul asked, “Why do I feel like he and I were just a couple of stray cats hissing at each other?”
Stowicz laughed heartily. “Well put. Yes, he was here to gauge you. And you played that nicely.”
“Ya, kid,” McGowan added. “You did good.”
Salisteen’s purse erupted with a chorus of classical music. She opened it, pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and said, “This is Salisteen.”
She listened for a moment, then said, “But I—” Clearly the person at the other end interrupted her.
She listened further, then flipped the cell phone closed and carefully put it back in her purse. She looked up at McGowan and Stowicz and said, “Those nasty Russians are in town. They just landed at DFW and they’re on their way here. And Karpov is livid about last night.”
~~~
He’d left his car parked in a busy strip mall about a half mile from the school. He had the advantage of a rather ordinary appearance, so as long as he didn’t do something to stand out, people didn’t really notice him. But he was too gringo to go unnoticed in this neighborhood, so he’d carefully prepared a spell of illusion, a glamour to give him the appearance of an elderly Latino man, old enough that no one would consider him a threat, but not so old as to appear decrepit. This time of year dusk came early, and a comfortably gray evening settled in as he walked down the sidewalk toward the school.
The voice inside him had gone quiescent in anticipation of the kill. He sensed its hunger, though he couldn’t share that hunger, not for the little Mexican boy. Only Alice could satisfy his need, so he would take little pleasure from this. The little boy was really just food, sustenance for the voice within him, a means to strengthen it, to sate its needs, to return it to a state of power so it could help him satisfy his one desire: little Alice.
The little Mexican boy took remedial English lessons after school on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. His parents had high hopes for him, wanted him to go to college, to speak English without an accent, and had the means to pay for a tutor. He considered them to be quite progressive in that respect. But it meant the little boy couldn’t take the bus home and must wait for his father to get off work and pick him up. And at this time of year that meant he waited on the sidewalk in front of the school, in the gray dusk of early evening. Sometimes he waited alone. Perfect!
He’d tried this two nights ago Tuesday evening, but the boy hadn’t been alone. There’d been a couple of classmates standing on the sidewalk with the young fellow. So he’d merely strolled on past the boy, though the boy had nodded politely and said, “Good evening, sir.” Indeed, very polite.
Tonight, as he turned the corner a block away from the school, he saw clearly that the boy waited alone. As he strolled slowly toward the young fellow he reached into his pocket and retrieved the small charm he’d prepared. A complex charm, it had taken hours to concoct, and when activated would release a compulsion spell. He wouldn’t have to take any overt action, wouldn’t have to drag the boy kicking and screaming to his car. The child would merely feel curious about the old gentleman that passed him in the night, would think about it for a few moments, and when the old fellow was about a half block away, would decide to satisfy that curiosity and follow the old man, but at a discrete distance. And later, if someone chose to inquire about the boy’s last minutes alive, and if anyone happened to have noticed, they’d tell how the boy had walked away from the school alone.
He was only a dozen paces from him when the boy looked his way and smiled. He smiled back, and as he approached him he lifted his hand to his mouth, concealing the charm within it. When he reached the boy he coughed into his hand as an excuse to spit on the charm, then he faked a stumble and lunged feebly at the boy. Instinctively, and politely, the boy reached out to help the old man, and at that moment he pressed the activated charm against the skin of the boy’s hand.
The charm exploded with an excruciating flash, knocking him to the ground, his hand and arm throbbing painfully. The little boy staggered but didn’t fall, put a hand to his forehead and swayed slightly as if stunned. Standing over the older man he looked down and said, “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” the voice within him said. “I’m hurt. Help me.”
No, he wanted to scream, but the voice had complete control of him now. As the boy leaned down toward him he opened his mouth. No, there’s something wrong, don’t.
I must feed, the voice said within him, and the oily black cloud emerged from his mouth, rose up and enveloped the boy.
The boy screamed, staggered, fell and convulsed spasmodically on the sidewalk.
The voice, screaming in pain, wanted the little boy, wanted to try again, but it was weakened and he regained control of his body. He staggered to his feet, staggered up the street away from the scene. Surely someone had heard the boy’s scream and would take notice. He needed to get away, but it was imperative he not draw further attention to himself, not run, not rush. His arm hurt terribly, and the voice within him groaned in pain.
He made it to the end of the block, t
urned and walked out of sight of the school. By the time he reached his car in the strip-mall parking lot, he heard the scream of a siren in the distance. His right arm was useless, so he dug his keys out of his right pocket with his left hand. He sat down behind the wheel, reached across with his left hand to turn the key and start the engine. He backed out of the parking place slowly, drove across the parking lot and out onto the street, careful not to rush, not to speed. He’d only driven a short distance when the flashing lights of an ambulance passed him going the other way.
~~~
“Valter,” Karpov snarled as he stormed into Salisteen’s library. “Vhat in hell are you doing?”
They had agreed to meet Karpov as they’d met Cadilus, though Paul remained standing this time. Karpov ignored the rest of them as he marched up to McGowan. The old man grinned at him and said, “Why, Vasily, just helping Paul practice a little necromancy.”
“But what happened? Everyone on the continent must have felt it.”
McGowan shook his head dismissively. “Just a little learning experience, Vasily.”
Boris and Joe Stalin walked into the room warily. Behind them walked a fellow with blonde hair and Nordic good looks, about Paul’s height. With senses Paul had only recently begun to develop, the fellow was clearly a practitioner, a strong one. And he didn’t have the thuggish appearance of Karpov’s usual bootlickers.
Katherine, standing beside Paul, tensed at the sight of the fellow. He glanced her way and watched her eyes narrow angrily, so he leaned close to her and whispered, “Who’s the Nordic god?”
She turned to Paul and hissed angrily, “My ex. Eric Reichart. And he’s not that good looking, not when you get to know him.”
Mr. Nordic god hesitated when he spotted Katherine, then turned and crossed the room toward her, stopped only when he stood so close to her it was down-right intimate. “Katherine,” he said, his voice sensual, his eyes looking her up and down, pausing briefly on her breasts as he obviously stripped her naked in his mind and look-fucked her. “As always, you look beautiful.”
