Unholy Spirit (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 3)

by Genevra Black

  "If I was ever sane, I don't think I'd have survived this long." She opened her mouth to say more, but a flash of movement over his shoulder caught her eye. A spirit was diving straight for him, spear extended, mouth open in a roar. "Behind you!"

  Marius began to turn, but the spirit warrior was practically on top of him now. Time slowed to a crawl as the tip of the spear rocketed toward his head.

  Then, at the last second, it stopped. The spirit was tugged back midflight, and its body was sundered in half before exploding, white flecks mingling with molten orange ones. On the other side stood a now-familiar, fiery visage.

  Vidarr had traded his regular sword for one that looked to be made of flames, though Edie knew without having to be told it was holy fire. He was an Aesir, after all.

  "Lord Vidarr," Marius said, switching his weapons back to a blade and shield. "My thanks."

  The god said nothing, simply turned away and lashed out at another large group of spirits, destroying them in one fell swoop.

  As Edie shadow jumped back into the fray, her heart lifted. Marius was right; this was dangerous, and people were going to die. But having a god and this many valkyir on their side meant they couldn't lose.

  …Right?

  As Adam skidded across the icy pavement, asphalt biting into his leather jacket, he realized he was probably going to die here.

  The thought was as startlingly clear and harsh as the noon light reflecting off the snow. Obvious. People were dying all around him; the stench of the battlefield overpowered the senses. He wasn't any different from them. He wasn't special.

  Dragging himself to his feet, he faced the spirit who had thrown him and ground out a riff on the Genesis that punched a bolt of shadow straight through its chest. The shadow was chased closely by a lance of spirit magic thrown by a valkyrie circling above, and Adam spun, looking for the next threat.

  There was no time to think. There was no time to do anything but fight or die. And yet as his gaze swept over the Mall—a place he'd been a hundred times, so different now—he felt compelled to stand still for an extended moment and admire the scene. Blood, viscera, death, misery...

  Ain't it pretty?

  Adam blinked and shook his head hard. That voice kept creeping up in his mind, but it didn't feel like his own. It wasn't the first time he had felt a buried-deep presence surface, but until recently, he’d never heard it in the back of his head like that. Thinking for him.

  Can't live if you're afraid to die. Get them. Chase them. Kill them.

  When he’d heard it before, the voice had disturbed him, even terrified him. But in that moment, as the feeling washed through his body, the anxiety of the battle melted away; he felt energized, excited, like that buried part of himself was vindicated by the violence. Leaning into it, he felt like he could think and react faster. His senses felt sharpened; his magic felt less like a tool and more like it was him.

  Kill them. It’ll feel good. You won't even get in trouble ... people'll thank you. Prey. Prey. They're all prey.

  Hell, whatever it took to stay alive at this point.

  His boots against the pavement and the strain in his legs barely registered as he swooped into battle. The shadows came to life around him, saturated voids of magic. He darted in and out, zigzagging from tree to cement to grass, stalking his prey. Silhouettes fled from him in droves, weaving through the skirmish as he picked out weaknesses.

  Before he knew it, he found himself in front of the Literary Walk, standing between the statues of Robert Burns and Walter Scott.

  The bulk of the battle was nearly a hundred feet away now. He could tell from the thrumming in his fingers that he'd been playing the Genesis, riffing spells as he swept down the promenade, but he could hardly remember it. It was like he'd blacked out.

  But he'd survived. And, surprisingly, he felt amazing. Alive. Electric.

  "Adam?" Mikey's tentative whisper wound around his brain, and the guitar vibrated in his hands. "Are you okay, man? What was that whole thing?"

  "I'm fine." He clenched and unclenched his jaw. "I'm just … trying to learn to use these powers ... and trying not to die. Some of us make that a priority."

  The Genesis went quiet.

  Adam turned around, poised to channel more shadow through his strings. He'd race up and down the esplanade, luring as many spirits to their deaths as he could, for as long as he could. Then—

  A ghostly roar interrupted his train of thought, and he ducked just in time to dodge something flying toward his head. It landed behind him with a heavy metallic CLANK, chilling him to the bone. If it had hit him, he would be dead.

  It only took a moment to pinpoint the origin of the roar. A spirit hovered next to the now-decapitated statue of Robert Burns, a maul grasped tightly in both hands. With a shriek, the spirit descended, swinging for Adam.

  He ducked and rolled as his attacker swooped low. The maul whistled past his shoulder. Adam turned, picking himself up quickly, and summoned a spike of shadow with a whip-quick sequence of notes.

  But the spirit didn't even try to move. He simply let himself be impaled—and when his form reshaped, he was stalking toward Adam, pale eyes burning with hatred.

  Adam's fingers froze over his frets. He knew those eyes. He knew that face. It was different now—blueish, translucent, coated with frost—but there was no mistaking it.

  "Brian?" Adam whispered.

  The spirit didn't reply with words. Maybe he couldn't. He simply growled, a nearly subsonic noise that shook the ground, and raised his maul again.

  "Brain Damage?!" Mikey cried as Adam shadow jumped to the base of a tree behind the spirit. "Brian's one of the bad guys?"

  "Are you that surprised?"

  “Aren’t you? He was our friend!”

  “Never a very good one, let's be honest.” A dark cloud stuck to Adam as he lurked in the shadows of the trees, circling Brian’s spirit. "He always treated you and Clottia like shit. I just never thought he’d go this far.”

  The spirit wheeled around, searching frantically for his opponent. In broad daylight, Adam was only able to escape notice for a few more moments before Brian clocked him and ran full tilt, screaming and swinging his weapon.

  Adam ducked behind the Walter Scott statue and rounded it, summoning a shade at Brian's back. It stabbed him in the spine with a spike of shadow, but the attack didn't even dispel him, only slowed him down.

  As Brian spun to kill the shade, Adam backed up, casting his eyes to the sky. He'd need to get the attention of a valkyrie or one of the priestesses of Freyja if he wanted to take Brian down.

  It felt horrible, thinking that about an old friend. In some ways, he felt responsible. If he'd looked harder, he would have seen it coming. He'd known Brian had shitty, misguided opinions. He'd known he blamed a failing system on people who didn't deserve it. Maybe it was Adam’s fault his friend had gone off the deep end. If he'd tried to talk some sense into Brian before it was too late, maybe things would be different—if not for him, for the people he'd hurt.

  But no one had forced him to put on a mask and pick up a gun and pledge to kill people. Brian had chosen his side, and they'd used him. And now, in the most literal way, he was too far gone.

  Eyes still on the sky, Adam took off running, hoping to slip past Brian. He thought he remembered seeing a few priestesses and their defenders holding the line not far from here, or maybe a valkyrie would notice them—

  As he ran, he sent out another shade to distract Brian. It appeared behind the spirit and attempted to put him in a headlock, but he simply shook it off, barreling forward.

  Adam staggered to a halt as his former friend blocked his way, maul gripped in both hands and malice burning in his eyes.

  "Brian," Adam muttered, gripping the Genesis close to his chest. "Brian, are you in there? Can you understand me?"

  The spirit responded with another subsonic growl. If Brian was still aware, he wasn't interested in talking.

  Adam dodged to the side, hoping to
get around him, but Brian lashed out with the maul and only barely missed his right temple. Drawing in a sharp breath, Adam tried the other way, but the spirit was so quick, coiled so tight, ready to react to the slightest movement.

  Feint.

  Adam obeyed, feinting to the left—then, when Brian lashed out, he jerked to the right, nearly passing him. But the spirit was turning too fast, maul raised above his head now.

  Every calculation was made within a nanosecond: almost as soon as Adam dodged right, he realized his mistake. Brian was about to pulverize him, and he'd been knocked out of his zone; there was no time to look for a shadow to jump to.

  Instead, as he passed Brian, he turned. What use was an indestructible guitar if you didn't hit shit with it?

  The maul came down so quickly that Adam barely raised the Genesis in time, gripping it by the head and body and stopping the maul's momentum neck to shaft. The strength behind the blow was incredible, and it took everything Adam had to keep his arms steady. He stumbled to one knee.

  Then he watched in horror as the Genesis splintered and the headstock snapped off.

  Chapter Forty-One

  "Ow! Fuck!" The Genesis vibrated discordantly.

  As Adam rolled to the side, the maul whistled past his head with a breeze. The pavement shuddered and cracked under him when it was struck.

  Headstock in one hand, the rest of the Genesis in the other, Adam jumped to his feet. Dread filled his chest, making him instantly nauseous. That would be an expensive repair, but it hardly even crossed his mind.

  "Mikey?" he whispered, keeping his distance from Brian's spirit as they circled one another.

  "I'm still here. That jerkoff cut my motherfucking head off!"

  Relief cooled Adam's heart. "You and Robert Burns both."

  "Screw Robot Burns, Auld-Lang-Syne-ass ... watch out!"

  Adam didn't need to be told to see Brian charging him like a bull again. He shadow jumped quickly behind a statue of Columbus, then looked down at the ruins of the guitar in his hands.

  Curses flowed freely as he tried to piece the headstock back onto the neck. Most of the splinters seemed to be there, at least, but that didn't help him now. How was he supposed to channel explosive magic without his focus?

  "What the hell happened?" he whispered to Mikey, hidden in the shade for now. "I've hit other stuff and you never broke. I thought your spirit magic or whatever made you invincible."

  "Man, I dunno, I just live here."

  Adam peeked around the base of the Columbus statue. Brian was moving closer, aided by supernatural senses. "We're gonna have to do a little better than that, Mike."

  "He's a spirit ... I'm a spirit ... these guys die when they get hit with spirit magic. I guess his big hammer is spirit magic, so it hurt me."

  Brian stopped, fixing Adam with that evil stare, and he knew he'd been spotted. He glanced around him. If he shadow jumped just right, he might be able to make it back to the battle...

  He's a spirit, I'm a spirit.

  Or he could end this. Right here, right now.

  Kill, boy. You need to. You need it. It's in your blood. And anything's a weapon if it ends a life.

  With a roar, Adam threw himself from behind the base of the statue. A heavy wave of shadow and death, unrestrained by the Genesis, rolled from him, crashing into everything in the Literary Walk. The huge flowerbed in the center of the roundabout withered to stalks; the lampposts squealed as they were toppled; the elms groaned and bowed under rot. The statue behind him snapped at the ankles and came crashing forward.

  He had already rocketed well out of the way by the time it slammed to the cobbles. With the Genesis brandished like a pike, he ran straight into Brian, impaling the spirit with the splintered guitar neck.

  Brian's eyes widened, and Adam looked into them, thinking—for just a split second—that he saw some recognition in that gaze.

  But it was gone quickly, in an eddy of magic and snow, and all Adam was left with was a bitter end.

  He stood there for a few moments, staring at where Brian had been. Then he looked down at the broken Genesis, and back ahead at the battle.

  What now?

  His magic was too destructive to use without a focus, and nothing was getting strummed on this guitar.

  "Adam! Dad!" Elle trotted off the green toward him. Her stockings and sweater were torn, blond curls caked with dirt and blood. He couldn't see her glamour—he was slowly getting used to seeing her gray as stone with glassy eyes—but he could feel that it had slipped. Her skin was covered in cuts that oozed dark, sluggish fluid.

  "Elle." He was still, simply watching as she came closer.

  "Oh my god! What happened? Is Mikey okay?"

  "He's fine," Adam croaked, looking at her hands. "You're hurt."

  She rolled up her sleeves, revealing more cuts. "I'll be okay. Cal says it's real hard to kill a revenant for good."

  Adam glanced toward the battle. "I'm not sure what to do without the— Are we winning?"

  "I think so," she said, following his gaze. "Between that hunky fire guy and the valkyries, their numbers are dropping like crazy."

  He looked down at the Genesis, trying to process this while at the same time puzzling out how he was going to fight now. If he could find Edie or Satara, or even Cal, they would know what to do.

  He faced the battle. "Let's go."

  Before he could take a step, though, the sky seemed to darken. Something that sounded like thunder rumbled, and he looked up, expecting sudden rain.

  "Wait—" Elle gasped, covering her mouth and pointing behind him. "What the fuck is that?!"

  When he turned and saw, he nearly dropped the Genesis. What looked like a glowing cloud rolled toward them, the apparent source of the thunderous noise. As it came closer, overtaking the entire sky, his heart sank.

  It wasn't a glowing cloud—it was another mob of spirits, soaring through the air, toward the Mall. And at their head, voidlike wings cutting the sky, was Daschla.

  As Satara swooped in and out of battle, her stomach flipped.

  The tides were turning in their favor; there was no doubt of that. Steadily, the Reach and the Mare Isle forces held the line, the flanking valkyir picking away at the unholy army.

  But each little victory came at a cost. Many had already died. More would—and at the end of the day, when the dust had settled, it would be her job to take their souls away. That was the way of things. Part of her nature now.

  As surely as war raged around her, war raged within her.

  Feeding her anxiety was the fact that she'd not seen Daschla since the spirits' initial charge. Whatever that meant, it could not be good.

  Satara touched down in the middle of the esplanade, wreathing her spear and shield in spirit magic. Dodging this way, thrusting that way. She threw her shield, and it sliced through several spirits before boomeranging back to her hand.

  Every move was calculated, precise. She had been a skilled fighter before, but nothing compared to this. Time seemed to flow around her more smoothly, in her favor. She could feel every living thing in her vicinity, when their souls brightened and when they dimmed. So many threads connected to her, so close, vibrating and shining so vividly...

  She would pull back to assess the situation and adjust their strategy soon, but for now, she was in the zone. So much so that she hardly noticed the sky darkening above her.

  It wasn't until she heard a familiar voice that she tore her focus from the battle. The voice was frantic, cutting through the din of metal on metal and hissing spells. Satara attempted to pinpoint where it was coming from. A moment later, Adam broke through the crowd.

  He was wan, his hair stringy with sweat. Cuts and bruises covered his face, neck, and hands, and his nose was bleeding. With a shock, Satara realized that the guitar slung across his back was snapped at the head, only held together by strings.

  But his hazel eyes were bright and wide, and he ran with purpose toward her. She could finally make out his words: "Sa
tara! Auxiliary! Daschla! She brought auxiliary. They're coming!"

  Ice lanced her heart. "How many?"

  "She must have another thousand more," he said between heavy breaths. Elle appeared next to him a moment later, nodding in agreement.

  Satara raised her eyes to see for herself, numbness entering her limbs as spirits blanketed the sky.

  She no longer had to wonder where Daschla had gone—there she was, leading the charge. Her discordant vibrations made Satara so acutely uncomfortable, her entire being revolted by the broken valkyrie's very existence.

  She must have had more Blood Eagles lying in wait, somewhere away from the rally. They had mere seconds before the new wave of unholy soldiers were upon them.

  Pushing off the ground, she flew to one of the other valkyir, relaying orders: "Tell the defenders to continue flanking and holding the line. Have some sisters summon their steeds and enfold them from the air. Now."

  The valkyrie nodded. "What of the broken one?"

  "Leave Daschla to me."

  The valkyrie flew off at once to relay orders. Satara took the air, beating her wings, awestruck at the sheer number of spirits coming toward them. Just as she suspected, they careened toward the battle, trying to take advantage of the Reach from above. But, roars echoing through the Mall, they were met by resistance from mounted valkyir.

  Satara expected to see Daschla dive into battle as well, but no ... as the army swooped in, she simply kept flying, clearing the air thirty feet above Satara's head on her way toward the Bethesda Terrace.

  You will not run away.

  Fire and ice mingled in Satara's chest, compelling her to give chase. She sped after the false valkyrie, unbothered by the cold winds slicing her face. As Daschla angled her path downward and disappeared into the Bethesda Arcade, Satara followed.

  They were isolated from the battle here. The sounds of fighting had faded, mere echoes bouncing off the arcade's sandstone arches and intricately tiled ceiling. The cobblestone floor was carpeted with snow, packed down from the thousands of people who traveled through this short tunnel daily. It was odd to think that such a beautiful place was hidden under an ordinary asphalt road.