Dealing with Nellie was a hassle, and I had been perfectly happy to take a break from it while things were slow in Boulder. But now I was back.
It was not even four in the morning, so we had no trouble finding street parking just off Market, in front of Nellie’s brothel. It was a shabby, derelict building on a street that had been dramatically gentrified in the last twenty years to entice tourists and Rockies fans. It was situated between a club and a vegan pizza place, and despite frequent attempts over the years, no one had yet managed to turn Nellie’s eyesore into something pretty. I sort of respected that about her.
“Jeez, it’s not hard to figure out which building, is it,” Simon muttered as he looked up at the old, paint-splintered façade. The door that faced the street was heavily boarded, and even in the streetlight you could see rust on the nails. “It’s like the Addams family moved in next to adult Disneyland.”
“Don’t let Nellie hear you say that,” I warned. “Can you do that security camera hex thing?”
“Sure.”
I wasn’t worried about a humans-go-away ward here—Nellie’s brothel seemed to discourage visitors without any additional intervention. I figured the security camera hex was worth the extra two minutes, though.
When he had finished, Simon joined me at the back of the Jeep, where I was lifting out the bundle we’d brought from John’s house. “How are we going to get in?” he asked, pointing at the old boards over the entrance.
“The real entrance is in back,” I told him. “Apparently it’s a brothel thing. We go through that alley.”
Simon looked over my shoulder at the dark passage between the club and the brothel. There were no lights down there—the club kept trying to install them, but they always mysteriously shorted out. “Oh,” he said, looking a little nervous. His eyes dropped to the bundle in my arms. “Here, why don’t I get that. You can grab the box from up front and lead the way with the light.”
A moment later, I had balanced the box on my hip with my bandaged hand so I could guide us with a flashlight. We started down the alley, picking our way around the trash from the club. I occasionally called over my shoulder to warn Simon so he wouldn’t step on anything. “They’ve never heard of security lights?” Simon grumbled as he narrowly avoided slipping on a slick of dried vomit.
“I think Nellie blows them out,” I told him.
“She has control over the physical environment?” Simon sounded interested now.
“A little—cold spots and minor power outages, mainly. That’s how she’s kept this place from being torn down for the last hundred-some years.”
“Hmm. Is she restricted to this building?”
I stepped around an overflowing recycling bin. “Yes . . . but I guess I don’t know if that’s by choice or not,” I admitted. I hadn’t thought to ask. I had a feeling Simon was going to have a lot of questions I hadn’t thought to ask.
I pushed open the door—I’d broken the lock years ago, and no one but me ever seemed to come here. I wasn’t sure if Nellie had a way to actively discourage humans from entering, or if people had just sort of forgotten about this building, after so many years of trying to ignore it. Maybe it was both.
I walked in without thinking much about it, but Simon was more cautious, entering slowly and dropping the bundle just inside the door so he could look around. The back door opened onto a sort of grand entrance—a massive staircase curved up to the second story, where a balcony railing would have once allowed the women to make their appearance. On previous visits Nellie was always waiting for me at the entrance, impatient and complaining. “Nellie? Are you here?” I called, feeling a little ridiculous. Where else would she be?
My voice echoed in the empty space. The building felt empty, and I began to worry in earnest. “Could she have . . . moved on?” Simon asked, sounding as nervous as I felt.
“I don’t know. It seems silly, but the only thing I can think to do is look in all the rooms.” I gestured upstairs. “There are bedrooms up there, and downstairs has a kitchen and parlor and stuff. I haven’t spent much time in any of them.”
“Okay. Are the stairs safe?”
“Yeah, I’ve gone up there before, to check for drunks and rats.”
“Charming.” Simon turned on his cell phone flashlight. “I’ll try up there, if you want to look down here.”
He started up the creaky steps, and I headed to the left of the staircase, still calling Nellie’s name. I’d taken only a few steps out of the main foyer when I heard Simon call down the stairs.
“Lex? Something seems . . . weird.”
Weird? That didn’t sound like my friend the scientist. I turned and went back into the entrance hall, tilting my head back to see the second floor. Simon was paused on the next-to-the-top step, half-turned so he faced the railing. The glow from his phone’s screen illuminated his face enough for me to see his frown. He squinted down at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know—I’m wearing the stone under my shirt, but I just feel . . .” He put one hand on the railing to steady himself.
I saw it then, in the phone’s glow—his breath was fogging. “Si, maybe you should—”
Then Nellie burst into view an inch and a half from his face.
I’d seen Nellie change her clothes and hair plenty of times, but I’d never seen this particular look on her: filthy, moth-eaten rags and long tangled hair that screamed “corpse.” She looked straight out of a horror movie, but terrifyingly real—and as vivid as I’d ever seen her, even when Morgan had been boosting the ley lines. Simon cried out and instinctively stumbled back. I was already running toward them, but way too late—his back foot skidded off the edge of the step and he tumbled down the stairs.
Chapter 37
“No!”
I ran up the steps, the beam of my light bobbing wildly so that all I saw was flashes of pinwheeling limbs. I was moving as fast as I’d ever moved in my life, but he was already two-thirds of the way down before I reached him. I had just enough time to drop the flashlight and grab the banister hard as he bowled into my midsection.
An oomph burst out of me, but I managed to grab hold of Simon’s shirt with my free hand. My left arm wrenched as his momentum tried to carry him straight through me, and I heard the banister creak dangerously. It held, though, and so did my shoulder.
“Simon? Simon!” He didn’t answer. His body was limp, draped across the steps.
Nellie had winked out again, and my flashlight had tumbled down the stairs and rolled away toward the door, leaving us in almost complete darkness. I released the banister and felt around his chest until I found his neck. He had a pulse.
I was off-balance; I needed to get us off the fucking steps before anything else happened. I eased his body down the rest of the stairs to the floor. When I touched his head, one of my hands came away wet, and I fought not to sob. I scrambled to my feet and ran after the flashlight, a sturdy Maglite that would probably survive a fall off the building, much less the stairs. As I grabbed it, I caught sight of my hand—it was bright, jarring red.
I bolted back to Simon. He still wasn’t moving, and I had a horrifying flashback to Lily’s limp body only an hour and a half earlier. Being my friend was costing the Pellars way too much tonight.
I panned the light over him, trying to find the source of the bleeding without jostling him any further. There was a small cut on the back of his head, which was probably what had knocked him out. His cheekbone was already puffing up, and one wrist was obviously broken, judging by the grotesque angle. He had probably tried to catch himself on it. I’d done the same thing before.
Suddenly one of his legs shifted, and he let out a small moan. I flicked my wrist to train the light on his ankle, using my other hand to gently pull up the leg of his jeans. It was red and already swelling—a sprain or a hairline fracture, probably. I stood up, stepping back from him. “Nellie,” I yelled. “Get your ass out here!”
There was a pause; then
her sullen voice rang down from the direction of the second floor, though she still wasn’t visible. “I weren’t trying to hurt ’im.”
I ignored that for now. “Listen to me, Nellie Evans,” I called. “I’m going out to the car for a first aid kit. If you so much as look at him funny while I’m gone, I will make you regret it for every second of this life.”
As fast as I could, I jogged out to the Jeep and scooped up the backpack with all the first aid gear, ignoring the ache in my own shoulder. When I got back inside, Simon hadn’t moved, and his eyes were closed again. There was no sign of Nellie, so I dropped the backpack next to Simon and knelt down to deal with his injuries.
I had a simple plastic-and-Velcro splint that would stabilize his broken wrist; best to do that first, while he was still unconscious. I slipped his hand into the loops, slid it slowly into place, and, holding my breath, gently repositioned the broken bone so it would connect again. Simon made a little noise of pain, finally opening his eyes.
“Simon? Can you hear me?”
His eyes rolled to me. “Lex . . . what happened? Did we win?”
I choked on a laugh. “Not yet. Hold on, this is gonna hurt.” I pulled the Velcro straps tight, wincing as Simon cried out in pain.
Through gritted teeth, he asked me, “How long was I out?”
“Maybe three minutes? We just got here.”
There was no reply. His eyes were closing. I scooted to his face. “Hey! Simon!”
He didn’t respond. I didn’t want to risk jarring his head injury, so I took his face gently in my hands, being careful with the puffy cheekbone. “Simon,” I said softly. “Please wake up.”
Simon opened his eyes, and I was suddenly aware of how close together we were. “Your hands are cold,” he whispered.
I began to pull back, but his good hand floated off the floor and settled on my elbow, holding me in place. I had dropped my guard, and for a moment I felt the connection between us as though it were a palpable thing, a cord that looped around us. Simon’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“For what?”
“I never . . .” His voice drifted off for a moment, his gaze losing focus. When his eyes returned to mine, he just said, “Lex? I don’t feel so good.”
“I think you have a concussion,” I told him. “I’ve got a little emergency supply of morphine—”
He started to shake his head, grimaced, and said, “No. I can handle it.”
I would have said the same thing in his position—in fact, I had, more than once—so I didn’t argue. “Then just rest here for a minute, okay?”
“’Kay.”
I stood up and backed a few feet away from him, turning to face the room. “Nellie Evans,” I shouted. “Show yourself.”
Nothing happened. There was no movement in the dark entryway.
“Nellie!” My voice was threaded with rage.
Her voice floated down from above. “I was just having a bit of fun. I dinna mean to hurt anyone.”
“Bullshit,” I spat. “You were pissed at me, and you thought you’d hurt my friend to put me in my place.”
Silence.
“No more lies, Nellie.” I put the warning in my voice. “Come out where I can see you.”
Nothing happened.
I did not have time for this. “Okay, fine. You want to play games? I can play too.”
I pulled my pocketknife out of my jeans and squatted down in the flashlight beam. Gritting my teeth, I dragged the blade across the meat of my uninjured thumb, careful not to cut too deeply this time. I didn’t want to mess around with the skin adhesive again.
Nellie popped up across from me as I was drawing a circle on the floor with my blood. The horror movie getup was gone, replaced by her standard look: a pinup-style polka-dotted crop top and short-shorts, complete with bright red lipstick and black hair in those fancy curls. Very Bettie Page, if Bettie were a leathery forty-year-old who looked like she knew her way around a knife fight. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
I didn’t look up. “I’m sending you across the bridge.”
“No!” Nellie disappeared, reappeared next to me. She was burning up a lot of energy tonight—but then, she probably hadn’t needed to become visible in months. Maybe she could store up her strength. It would have been an interesting thought, if I’d had time to care. “I said I was sorry!” She sounded desperate.
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.” I took a moment to fuss with the circle, filling in every gap so it was complete.
“Goddammit, Lex!”
I finished the circle and touched the tips of my tattoos to the line of blood, willing it to open. Door.
“Don’t you do this!” She was pleading now, her voice practically a sob.
I sat back on my heels, regarding her coldly. “I came here in good faith, owing you nothing, and you tried to kill my friend.”
“I didn’t—”
I overrode her. “I told you once that I had no interest in banishing you if you weren’t hurting anyone.” I pointed at Simon. “What do you call that?”
“Please,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want.”
I cocked my head at her. I could feel the magic of my circle begin to build up inside me, the door pulling at my attention. We were running out of time in more ways than one, but I still drew out the moment for another five seconds.
“Please, Lex!”
I shrugged, scuffing the line of blood. The door vanished. “I want information, right now, no more games or tricks.”
“Ask. Ask me anything.”
I pointed through the entryway, toward the body rolled up in John’s cheap IKEA living room rug. “Tell me how to raise the dead.”
Chapter 38
I had expected an argument, and I got one. “Do you have any idea what you’re askin’ me?” Nellie didn’t sound angry, just scared and worried. “That’s the strongest magic we have—deep and dark. If you—”
“I have no time,” I snapped. “My friend needs a hospital. You have two minutes to explain it to me before I decide to cut my losses with you.” I twirled the pocketknife, a little theatrically.
We stared at each other for a long moment, but Nellie saw something in my face and sagged. “You need a sacrifice,” she finally grumbled. “Life for life, death for death. I’m assuming you didn’t bring your boyfriend here just to kill him.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I corrected, but I got up and went over to the box I’d brought in with us. I peeled back the top flaps slowly, but the chicken was still fast asleep, thanks to Simon’s sedation.
Nellie had manifested next to me, her color the normal, translucent level I was used to. She peered into the box. “That could work,” she said, begrudging. “For a few minutes. Maybe ten.”
“How do I do it?”
Nellie didn’t need to breathe air, as far as I could tell, but she still made a point of sighing. “Lex-girl . . . don’t do this. Once you raise the dead . . . they’ll begin to call to you.”
I could have asked her what she meant. I should have. But I had ninety minutes until I was supposed to be in Cheyenne, and I was afraid to know. “I have to. Tell me how.”
So Nellie explained.
I’m not sure what I expected for a ritual to raise the dead, but it was actually fairly simple, if gross: I needed to exsanguinate the chicken on top of the corpse. As the blood rushed out, so would its life. I had to use my mindset to guide the chicken’s life force into the werewolf and hold it there while I asked my questions.
The container for life force—the werewolf’s soul, for lack of a better term—was gone, so whatever I poured into the body wouldn’t stay long. Since I wasn’t about to kill another human and steal their soul, the chicken’s life force would start seeping from my fingers almost immediately, and I would have to let it go.
“What happens if I don’t?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
Nellie gave me a frank look, then gla
nced at Simon. “Your magic will start taking life out of the next weakest soul it can find.”
My eyes hardened. “He’s a witch.”
“Really?” Nellie’s ghostly eyes widened, then narrowed with calculation. “Interesting. You don’t see many men witches, at least not back in my day.”
“Focus, Nellie.” My stomach roiled with nerves, but I didn’t have time for second thoughts. “We’re running out of time.”
Nellie looked uneasy. “Listen . . .” she began. “Is there anything I can say that will talk you away from this?”
I met her eyes. I had learned how to look at the surface of them, rather than let my gaze drift through. I had never seen Nellie’s face look so devoid of calculation. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed she was actually worried for me. I softened a little. “No, there isn’t.” I took a breath, moving the flashlight so I could check on Simon. His eyes were open, and he’d turned his head sideways so he could watch me. I kept the light out of his eyes, and when he saw me looking, he shot me a weak smile. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We’ll be okay.”
I nodded. It was time to begin.
Killing the chicken was the worst part. I had to slice her throat, but at least the poor thing was still sedated and I don’t think she felt much. I stood over the dead woman, one foot on either side of her waist, and made the cut as quick and deep as I could. When the blood began to pour out of the chicken, running onto the werewolf’s chest, I switched into my boundary magic mindset, feeling the steadying presence of my mother’s bloodstone over my heart.
It was just as Nellie had said—the blood was like a weak, yellowish cascade of gossamer, pooling onto the dead werewolf’s chest. I extended ghostly fingers with my free hand and cupped them over the heart, trying to keep the pool together. When the bleeding stopped, I dropped the chicken, crouched, and used my other hand to help hold the small accumulation of life in place. Then I shifted to a kneeling position and pressed down, like I was doing chest compressions.
The body began to spasm.
Boundary Broken (Boundary Magic Book 4) Page 24
