Unholy Spirit (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 3)

by Genevra Black

  "Hell, fuck the twenty years. Same shit, different year, different neighborhood." He gestured upward, and the Genesis whined lowly over his shoulder. For a second, it looked like he'd continue. Then, he exhaled and simply said, "People are going hungry, man."

  Edie scanned the room again, slower this time, seeing more than the undeniable beauty. Her gaze touched the globes of roses on one of the tables, the red crystals in the chandeliers, the red foot stools ... the red streak across the parquet floor. She did a double take and stopped, and as she reached out with her magic, she recognized it as blood—like someone had been dragged through the room.

  Wordlessly, she followed it to a glass door, through which she could see white chairs and a checkerboard floor. When she opened it, the smell of copper and gunpowder washed over her.

  Along with familiar voices.

  "Give ’er a few minutes, Mr. Golden Sun,” Cal was saying. “I think she's got it together enough to open a door and take an elevator."

  "There were more of them. You know there have to be more of them. And what about Satara? What if she—"

  Another gunshot cut Marius’s voice off, and Edie rushed into the room with Adam on her heels. A wall cutting the seating area in half obscured her view at first, but when she rounded the corner, she watched a black-and-silver-clad man slump against the far wall.

  Behind the bar stood Cal, glass of Scotch in one hand and smoking gun in the other. Sensing her movement, he turned his head, then relaxed. "See? Told ya." With a smirk, he heaved a massive binder of cocktail recipes onto the counter, flipping through it. "Hey, kid, you want a Corpse Reviver? Twenty-six bucks."

  "I think I’m all set on the corpse reviving.” Edie surveyed the scene before her, no longer wondering where the blood had come from. Honestly, she was surprised there wasn't more of it.

  At least seven dead Gloaming agents lay scattered across the checkered floor. Huddled against the front of the bar, several humans in pressed shirts and staff vests were clutching their friends or their wounds, which Marius was working overtime to heal. The sight and smell of the injured and dead made Edie's heart pound harder, her vision sharpen. Every noise echoed off the high ceilings and amplified in her skull.

  "Are you hurt?" Adam asked, slipping from behind her to go to Elle, who was pouting on one of the barstools.

  "I'm fine, Dad." She sighed and showed him her blood-bathed hands. "I tore a guy's head in half. But I ripped my freaking stockings."

  Edie crouched by Marius without a word and gently moved aside a woman's arm, beginning to weave blood magic into a laceration in her side.

  "Are you hurt?" Marius asked, stopping for a moment to look Edie over. His eyes widened, and he reached forward, stopping just short of brushing her face with his thumb. "You're bleeding."

  "Am I?" She patted her face with her other hand and was surprised to find a deep cut on her chin. Of course, once she noticed it, the pain bloomed brightly. The New Gloaming agent must have scraped her when they'd rolled.

  "It looks deep."

  "I'm fine." Addressing the woman, she tried to sound braver than she felt. "When I'm finished with this, do you know a safe way out?"

  "The kitchen," a man in a red tie answered readily, clearly not sure whose side he should be on yet. "We could go out through the kitchen."

  "Okay." Edie took her hands off the woman, satisfied that she had at least stopped the bleeding. "You need to go out through the kitchen and get to a hospital as soon as possible. Some of you are hurt. Got it?"

  The woman nodded numbly, strands of chestnut hair sticking to her lip balm. Edie almost wanted to cry, seeing how pale she was.

  Edie and Marius stood, and the staff followed suit, some of them running and some of them moving more slowly to support their friends. As they cleared out, Cal called after them, tapping his glass with the barrel of his pistol, "Oh, and put this on my tab!"

  Marius crouched again to begin searching the Gloaming bodies, and Edie felt the back of her neck burning, hairs standing on end as they usually did when someone was staring at her intently. She turned to find Basile boring a hole into her.

  After a moment, she ventured, "What?"

  "Oh." He blinked, broke eye contact, and adjusted his glasses as if he had been in a trance. "It's nothing, nothing. Find anything, Marius?"

  "Nothing of significance," he mumbled, tugging on a silver chain around one of the bodies' necks. "Except these necklaces. They're all wearing them." When he finally freed the necklace from the agent's shirt, he lifted it for Basile to see—a silver pendant with a white opal stone.

  Recognition shocked Edie, nearly making her jump. "I've seen those!" The memories were so strong, they almost took her breath away: choking, betrayal, her friends being hauled away.

  Marius frowned. "You have? Where?"

  "At Indriði's townhouse, when she first trapped us. All the Gloaming there wore them, too." Chills ran up and down her arms. "It seemed to protect them against her time magic ... they were able to grab Satara and Astrid while we were suspended in time, anyway. Maybe we could use them. Unless there’s some spell to make them work.”

  Cal snorted. “Considering the, uh, turnover of these New Gloaming bastards”—he grinned at the one he’d just shot—“chances are good using ’em’s a no-brainer.”

  "Ha!" Basile grinned and gestured for Marius to hand him the pendant. "Don't you just love it when the villain's own stupid henchmen are his downfall?"

  Marius handed it over, then began to search the bodies for more. "There should be enough for each of us to have one." Not thirty seconds later, he had a fistful of silver chains. "Try to conceal them with your clothes. It might help give us an element of surprise."

  "Ooh," Elle said as she clasped hers, tilting the stone to admire it. "It's kinda super pretty? Yeah, I like this."

  Cal set his gun and Scotch down to slip the necklace over his head with a grimace. "Christ, I look like one o’ those LA moms with my stupid statement necklace."

  The younger revenant grinned goofily and blew a blond curl out of her face. "Just pretend it's a gift from a sexy lady. Imagine it between two perfectly round boobs!"

  He scoffed and waved her off, but glancing down at the necklace again, he looked like he felt a little better.

  "So that leaves us with the question of the hour," Basile announced, gesturing widely at the bar. "Where is Satara?"

  "She was supposed to come from the roof and meet us here." Edie pulled out her phone, but there were no new messages.

  The priest grunted. "This new lone wolf, loose cannon thing she's doing is really cramping my style. Perhaps we should've, I don't know, planned a bit better before throwing ourselves at the mercy of a Norn."

  "It's not like you throwing us into the Wending was planned," Adam cut in defensively. "You'd want to take Indriði down if she wronged you. Or is it only irrational when Satara does it?"

  Basile rolled his eyes. "Frankly, Mr. White Knight, all that matters at this point is stopping the Blood Eagles from burning New York City to the ground. The only reason I'm even here is because, against my better judgment, I care what happens to you people."

  "That's enough," Edie snapped, shoving her phone back into her pocket. "I'm fucking tired of hearing you bicker. Adam, I know I'm one to talk, but quit it with the whining. Basile, maybe you could endeavor to be less of an unmitigated asshole? I'm twenty-three years old, I shouldn't have to be telling middle-aged men how to behave." She sighed sharply, rubbing her temples. "What matters right now is making sure Satara is safe. So?"

  Elle raised her hand, twinkling her fingers. "I think she might have gotten caught on one of the residential floors on her way down. Me and Basile tried to take the residential elevator while we were looking for the bar, but it wouldn't call. The lights were just blinking, like something was jamming it up."

  "Okay, how do we get to the residential floors?"

  "We used the stairs off the lobby to get up here, so there must be more."


  Edie had already crossed to the glass door of the bar, holding it open. "I think I saw the stairwell down the hall to the right of the elevator. We need to move now."

  One by one, the others filed out of the room and headed in the direction she indicated. As Marius crossed the threshold into the next room, Edie looked over at the bar, where Cal was still casually sipping his Scotch.

  "You coming?"

  He sucked his teeth. "Ya know what, I'm gonna stay here. Enjoy my four-hundred-buck glass of Scotch while I have the chance. Watch ’n’ see if they send any backup. I don't think Scarlet's here," he added in a mumble.

  Edie paused before taking a few steps toward the bar. "What about Indriði?"

  "No way they haven't evacuated by now. If there's one thing the Gloaming are good at, it's scattering like cockroaches. But hell, maybe they left the spear and shield behind. That's one fuckin' thing outta the way." Idly, he paged through the binder of cocktails still sitting on the bar. "Go ahead. I'll be peachy."

  "Are you sure?"

  "What are they gonna do, kill me? Hey, if they do, you can just mix me a Corpse Reviver." He flashed a yellowed grin and waved her off.

  She watched him reluctantly for a few more moments before leaving the bar. He'd already survived the unthinkable, and if he was outnumbered, he wasn't stupid—he'd run, or get to her and the others, or something. She just had to trust him.

  She ran through the grand salon and to the stairwell, sprinting to catch up with the others. Who knew how much time they had to save Satara?

  As the Reach thundered through the Baccarat, killing goons as they went, Edie prayed Cal was wrong about one thing. She hoped Indriði was here, so they could end this once and for all.

  For Astrid, for Satara, for herself, and all the people Indriði had hurt in her too-long life.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was eerily quiet in here, Cal thought. Even the noise from the traffic outside seemed far away.

  Which was really saying something. There wasn't much in this world that an undead guy could rightfully find eerie, but maybe a couple weeks of sitting alone in a room with a young lady's corpse had put "eerie" into perspective a little. There were still things that could make him shudder after all.

  And he didn't like the quiet. Especially this kind—quiet in a place that shouldn't be. Like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. It was creepy as shit, and it made it that much harder to enjoy his The John Walker.

  Idly, he turned the crystal flask it came in, watching the light play in the topaz liquid. Over three thousand bucks for a bottle barely bigger than his palm. It was damn good Scotch, but he wouldn’t pay that if Johnnie Walker himself rose from the grave and did a jig. Good thing he wasn’t planning on paying for it. When in Rome…

  He finished his current glass and poured another couple ounces. The sound of the Scotch hitting the crystal was deafening in the silent room. There was only one thing that'd make this moment better, though he’d probably have to break about a dozen laws to do it. Then again, the tiles were smeared with blood, and he'd already put bullets in most of the walls. To say nothing of the stiffs scattered around the bar.

  Eh, fuck it. He drew out a pack of Newports and lit one up, taking a drag. As he exhaled, it was like he was pushing all the tension out of his body, too, relishing the familiar bite of the menthol at the back of his throat and in his nose. Such as it was.

  Cal allowed himself to relax for the time being, taking his eyes off the bar's entrance and instead gazing around the room. Chances were, if backup actually came, he'd hear them long before he saw them.

  It was a nice place. Way too fancy for his tastes, obviously; too much modern art on the walls, not enough neon and chicks on hot rods. The wine-colored paint and the blood-red crystals in the chandeliers were right up the Gloaming's alley—or the Old Gloaming's alley, at least—but the checkered floor, the white leather seats, and the quirky art reminded him of someone else.

  He spent an awful lot of energy trying not to think about her. Usually, it wasn't so hard. But when Edie had disappeared those couple weeks, he'd been on the horn with her almost every day, giving her updates, listening to what she was working on over in Anster. All her committees and coalitions and private fundraisers to bring the Reach back to the old shithole of a city...

  If there was one thing that could be said for Tilly, it was that she knew how to charm rich people into giving their money away. Cal had no idea why Edie didn't want to be the Reacher, considering. Most of the work was already being done for her.

  But Tilly was a rare breed. She bled money almost compulsively when she was pointed at a cause. And you wouldn't see her enjoying no four-hundred-dollar Scotch either.

  Cal shook his head. Who'd have thought the Baccarat would make Matilda Ardelean look down-to-earth? He wasn't sure he'd ever understand that woman.

  And, well, shit. He had to accept that. Most times, he was sure he had. Then other times, he couldn't stop seeing her everywhere.

  Must be that vampire magic. They could compel people if they were strong enough. Just usually not people a stretch of interstate away.

  Cal shook his head. That was enough stewing about her. Lord knew he had a dozen more important things to think about, including the fact that he was sitting in the belly of the Gloaming beast having a drink.

  Did he honestly think Indriði or Scarlet was here? Hell no. If he really thought Scarlet was here, he'd be the first one racing up those fucking stairs. She still owed him for rooting around in his head, and he intended to make her give back whatever memories she'd stolen, the little leech. But running away with their tails between their legs had always been Indriði, Scarlet, and Zaedicus's MO. Why would it change now?

  What would happen was they'd rush up there, find Satara tearing Indriði's empty apartment to shreds looking for Astrid's shield and spear, and try to get out before more Gloaming—

  As Cal raised his glass to drain the last of his Scotch, a gunshot rang through the bar. Before he even registered what had happened, the crystal exploded in his hand, whiskey raining to the polished floor.

  Shit.

  He raised his pistol, firing the same moment he saw the gunman—one of two New Gloaming agents who had just walked in, cloaks shrouding their faces. Quickly, he pivoted and put a second bullet through the other's face as they tried to zig to the left.

  The smells of smoke and Scotch mingled together. Gunshots rang against the high ceilings, and Cal shook the liquid off his hand. "Watch where you're pointing that thing," he said to the air. "If I was payin’ for this, you woulda cost me half a grand."

  A second later, a third figure stepped out from behind the wall partitioning the room, the stupid wall that had caused his blind spot in the first place.

  She wore a white satin slip dress, her jet hair falling long over her shoulders. When her black eyes met his, she stopped midstride, staring.

  Scarlet. And about as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

  Cal had daydreamed about what he might say to her when they finally went mano a mano, but right now? All those cowboy one-liners left his head as surely as if she’d stolen them from him, too.

  Her eyes glittered. A wide smile filled with deadly canines parted her lips. Then, she crouched like a tiger and pounced.

  Revenant reflexes were almost as keen as wight reflexes, but she was quicker. She hit him with what felt like a few tons of force, and they slammed into the back wall of the bar, cracking the wooden shelf and sending thousands of dollars’ worth of glass and booze crashing to the floor.

  Beneath the explosion, another distinct sound reached his ears: his pistol clattering to the floor beside them. His sawed-off was still holstered at his thigh, but a frantic, instinctual thrill told him get the damn Colt!

  Fury surged up his arms, and he grabbed Scarlet around her waist, throwing her as hard as he could to the side.

  She flew from his grip and crashed against the mirror wal
l at the far end of the room, cracking it on impact. Cal dove forward, grabbing his pistol and standing with it already aimed head-height.

  But as he rose over the bar, she was nowhere to be seen. Only the body of the guy he'd shot earlier slumped against the bench below the mirrors.

  A bit of dark blood oozed from a cut in Cal's cheek now, and he raised a wrist to wipe it as he crept forward, leading with the barrel of his pistol. "Better come out from wherever you are. I'll find you eventually."

  In response, her voice rang out all around him. He turned quickly, but it didn't seem to come from any one place. "Perhaps I should be flattered you want to kill me so badly ... but then, I guess mindless violence comes naturally to worm-shells like you."

  "Flattered? Don't be." As he checked behind the partition wall and found nothing, he reached for his Bear Claw, then stopped. A slug to the face wouldn't do. "Who says I wanna kill ya?"

  "Oh, Calcifer. That's pathetic, even for you. But I suppose there aren't any better ways of getting ladies at your disposal."

  "Do you ever shut up?" he ground out, turning toward the mirror again.

  A peal of laughter rang through the room, making him wince. "Maybe I'm right behind you and you just can't see my reflection. Or are you not quite stupid enough to believe that myth?"

  Before he could answer, something tinkled above him. He barely had time to glance up and notice the track lights above him before the full force of her weight came crashing down on top him.

  He swung his arm blindly as he fell, and the pistol discharged. The bullet missed her, but one of the light fixtures above them popped and rained sparks. The sparks mingled in Scarlet's hair as she wrapped her cold fingers around his throat, squeezing tightly, her grin just as white and horrible as ever.

  Fuck that. She wanted to fight dirty? He didn't need a gun to beat wholesale ass.

  Her grip on him was uncomfortable, but given he didn't need to breathe, that was all it was. He jerked to the side, catching her with a left hook that sent her tumbling into the barstools. As she picked herself up, he did the same, holstering his pistol and cracking his neck.