Haunted

by Kelley Armstrong

  I turned and ran in the other direction, passing through the logjam at the front door and racing to the studios on the other side. Distant sirens blared. Then a shot. Another. More screams behind us.

  The first studio door was closed, the room dark and empty. In the next, we found the remains of a class--a half-dozen adults huddled behind tables, a few whaling at the locked exit door. Unfinished sketches papered the floor. One middle-aged man grabbed an upended easel and threw it at the window, but it only bounced off the thick glass. A younger man raced for the hall.

  "No!" a woman screamed after him. "It's blocked. Stay here!"

  My gaze swept across the faces, seeing no Savannah, no one even close to her age. As I turned, I caught a shimmer in the corner--like a portal, but much weaker, the glimmer so slight only a practiced eye could see it.

  "There!" I said, pointing. "She's cast a cover spell."

  I raced across the room and knelt beside the empty spot.

  "Good girl," I whispered. "Smart girl. Stay there. Stay right there."

  A shot sounded in the hall. A young woman to my left screamed. A figure wheeled through the door. Another young woman--skeletal-thin, all jutting bones, with greasy brown hair and an acne-pocked face.

  She lifted a gun.

  I started to call Trsiel. The woman beside me dove to the floor, sailing through me and knocking against Savannah. The cover spell broke, and Trsiel's name died on my lips.

  Savannah lifted her head. She saw Lily. Saw the gun.

  "Cast, baby," I said. "Cast it again. Hide!"

  Her lips started to move...in a binding spell.

  "No! Hide. Just hide!"

  Lily turned toward Savannah. Something flickered in her eyes, something I recognized from the day before. The Nix. Her gaze fixed on Savannah, and her eyes flashed with jubilation.

  Lily swung the gun in Savannah's direction.

  "Trsiel!" I screamed.

  The gun fired. Kristof leapt into the bullet's path, but it shot right through him. Savannah had no time to duck, no time to finish her cast. I threw myself over her, knowing even as I did that it would do no good, that my gesture was as futile as Kristof's.

  Someone gasped. Someone behind me. I twisted to see the other young woman, the one who'd hit the floor beside us. She was lying on her side, face contorted with pain and shock, hands on her stomach, blood flowing through her fingers.

  I looked back at Lily. She stood there, a tiny smile on her face, gaze and gun fixed on her intended target--the dying woman, not Savannah. The Nix's rage flashed behind her eyes. The air around Lily rippled, as a formless vapor flowed from her body.

  Trsiel sailed through the doorway, sword raised. With a perfect lunge, he swung it and the sword cleaved through Lily. It passed right through her, bloodless, as it had when I'd used it on him. But Lily felt it. Her eyes went huge, hands dropping the gun as she clenched her heart.

  "Trsiel!" I yelled, pointing behind Lily.

  He saw the vapor, now taking on the faintest outline of the Nix. He charged, sword raised, and slashed at her, but she vanished before the blade made contact.

  Lily slumped to the ground, slack-jawed, dead.

  "Theresa? Theresa!"

  Savannah was crouched over the young woman on the floor. As she cast a healing spell, her hands fumbled at the woman's shirt, ripping it away from her stomach. The woman's eyes stared, empty, at the ceiling. Savannah pressed her hands to the woman's neck, feeling for a pulse.

  "She's gone, baby," I said.

  I reached for Savannah. My hands passed through her as she lowered her mouth to perform CPR. I tried again, tried with everything I had, to touch her, to hold her, but my fingers just slid through her body, my words tumbling out unheard.

  I screamed with rage and frustration. Kristof's arms wrapped around me, and he hugged me tight as we watched our daughter desperately try to resuscitate a dead woman.

  "They're coming," Kris said, striding back into the studio. "Lucas dropped Paige off at the door. He's parking the car now, and she's running in." He knelt beside Savannah. "Come over to the window, sweetheart. You can see Paige. She's on her way."

  Savannah just kept rocking, her bloodied hands wrapped around her knees, gaze straight ahead. Two medics had arrived and were tending to Lily and the other woman, but no one had time for Savannah. Her classmates had fled the moment Lily dropped the gun, leaving Savannah alone with two dead bodies.

  "Wasn't fast enough," Savannah mumbled, mouth pressed against her knees. "Should have picked another spell. A faster one."

  "You did fine, sweetheart," Kris said. He reached for her hands, lips twitching as his fingers grasped only air. He threw a glare over his shoulder. "Where's Paige?"

  I walked to the window. From there, I could see the drop-off circle, now hastily taped off. Paige was stuck on the other side, arguing with a young officer. Her face was taut, eyes simmering, and I knew she longed to knock the officer flying over his yellow tape with a knock-back spell, and charge in here after Savannah. But I also knew she wouldn't, not until she'd exhausted all the safe routes.

  A young man strode up behind Paige. Tall, thin, Latino, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a battered leather jacket.

  "Lucas," I breathed. "Thank God. You tell them."

  "He will," Kris said from across the room.

  Even from here I could see Lucas's quiet demeanor fall away as he drew himself up, snapping orders with the air of authority only a Cabal son can muster. As he spoke, he eased sideways, pulling the officer's attention with him. Paige sidestepped in the other direction, then darted under the tape and ran for the building.

  "She's coming," I said.

  I hurried into the hall to coax Paige along. Even if she could have heard me, she didn't need the encouragement. She made a beeline for the studio, flying through the door and across the room, then dropped to embrace Savannah.

  Savannah melted in Paige's arms, sobbing against her shoulder. Lucas wheeled through the doorway a minute later. He left Savannah where she was, still clinging to Paige, face buried, but took her hand. With his free hand, he reached into Paige's purse, dug out a tissue, and gingerly began to clean the blood from Savannah's fingers. As I watched them, my heart ached. Part of me was happy, knowing that my daughter had the best guardians I could want for her. And yet another part of me hurt so bad seeing them there together--a family that didn't include me and never would.

  "I couldn't help her," I whispered. "I couldn't do anything. I tried--I've been trying so hard. I thought maybe, just maybe--but I was wrong. I can't do anything."

  Kristof's arms went around me and I collapsed into them.

  Paige and Lucas took Savannah home a few minutes later. Kristof led me around the back of the building and we walked the trails there for about an hour, saying nothing. I couldn't stop thinking about that moment in the art room when Lily had lifted the gun, playing it and replaying it as I searched for a solution, something I could have done. There was an answer. One answer. Become an angel.

  As I turned to Kristof, the words were on my lips. I could protect her, Kris. If I became an angel, I could protect her. I could have stopped Lily and the Nix. But as I imagined saying it, I knew his response. He'd see it not as the perfect solution, but as another step down into the quagmire--giving up my afterlife to serve as an angel so I could protect our daughter.

  So instead I said, "Maybe I can't help Savannah, but I can show the Nix that this little 'demonstration' hasn't done anything but piss me off."

  A tiny smile. "And that's never good."

  "Which she is about to find out." I glanced back toward the community center. "I'd better go find Trsiel." I looked at Kristof. "I guess this is good-bye again, for a little while."

  "I'm never far," he said. "You need me, I'll be there. You know that."

  I squeezed his hand. "I do."

  Heartfelt vows of vengeance are easy to make, but rarely easy to carry out. I roared back into hunt mode, ready to track down this demon
-bitch and send her soul to the deepest, darkest hell I could find. Instead, I found myself billeted to Lizzie Borden's living room, while Trsiel hung out with Amanda Sullivan.

  Trsiel did his best to placate me, reminding me that so long as Amanda Sullivan saw nothing, the Nix wasn't in the living world. Fat lot of reassurance that was--the last time Sullivan saw a vision, it'd taken less than six hours for the Nix to persuade her partner to act--less than six hours before three people were dead.

  I couldn't imagine how she'd accomplished that--finding a partner so quickly. Not just any partner, but one who would be in the same building as my daughter that day. Was it that easy to find someone with a motive for murder? Someone who lacked only the guts to follow through on their impulses?

  Trsiel's theory was that the Nix hadn't been nearly as surprised to find me tracking her as she'd pretended, that she'd known I'd been on her trail, found out who I was, and scouted a few potential partners in the periphery of Savannah's life, women she could leap into if I got too close and needed a demonstration of her power.

  There was no way I was hanging out with Lizzie Borden, not while I still had leads to pursue. We'd questioned Luther Ross, but I still felt as if I'd missed something there, some insight into the Nix and her motivations. Ross had said he hadn't known why she'd come to his school, and I doubted he was lying, but if I asked the right questions, maybe I could figure out her motive for myself.

  Before we'd left Luther Ross, Kris had given him a "safe house" transportation code, sending him to a remote location where he could lie low and, more importantly, where we could track him down if need be. Now I wanted to speak to him again. So as soon as Trsiel dropped me off at Lizzie's house, I did a quick check-in with her, then zipped off after Kristof.

  29

  I FOUND KRISTOF IN HIS OFFICE AT THE COURTHOUSE, talking to a toga-clad client. The moment I peeked around the corner, Kris scuttled his client off.

  "I need to find a certain nymphomaniac," I said, perching on the edge of his desk.

  "Nymph--?" Kris laughed. "Ah, and never has that word been more apt. Mr. Ross, I presume."

  "So where'd you tuck him away?"

  Kris's fingers closed over mine. "Let me show you."

  We touched down in a field of white. For a second, I thought the Fates had diverted us to a throne-room waiting area. Then I saw a distant line of trees and, behind them, a mountain range. As I turned to look for Kristof, the ground under my sneaker crunched like broken glass. I knelt and reached down. My fingers sank into something soft and faintly cold.

  A white ball struck my shoulder, and exploded on contact. I looked over my shoulder to see Kristof packing a second missile.

  "Throw that at your peril."

  The snowball glanced off the top of my head, showering me with snow. I glared at him, spun on my heel, and started to march away. As I walked, I cast a blur spell. The last words left my mouth, then I wheeled, raced behind Kristof, and knocked him flying off his feet. When he hit the ground, I jumped on his back and rubbed his face in the snow.

  He sputtered, bucked, and managed to flip me off his back. We tussled for a few minutes, both armed with fistfuls of snow, trying unsuccessfully to give the other a face-washing. Finally, we fell onto our backs, laughing.

  Overhead was a faint greenish arch. As I watched, other threads of colored light appeared, reds and blues and yellows, dancing and weaving against the black sky.

  "Are you doing that?" I asked.

  "Wish I could take credit. It's the Northern Lights."

  "Wow."

  For a few minutes, we watched the lights dance. The night was so silent I could hear the distant crackle of breaking ice and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was pleasantly cool, like a brisk fall day.

  "So where are we?" I murmured, reluctant to disturb the quiet.

  "Remember that witch barmaid in La Ceiba? Said the pirate town was like--"

  "Alaska without the snow." I choked back a laugh. "You sent Luther Ross to Alaska?"

  Kristof tilted his head to the side. "You don't think he'll like it?"

  "Naughty boy. We'll be lucky if he'll talk to us after this." I looked back up at the sky. "So how come you never brought me here?"

  "I was saving it. For a special occasion, I guess." Another glance my way. "You like it?"

  I closed my eyes. I could still see the Northern Lights dancing. "Mmm. You'll have to bring me back."

  His fingers found mine, enclosing them in a sudden surge of warmth. "I will."

  A shout, and we bolted upright. I concentrated and the darkness lifted enough for me to make out two orange jackets moving from a stand of trees.

  "Never shoot anything around here," a man said, voice carrying in the stillness. "The drop-off point's there, remember? That's fine welcome for a new visitor--getting shot the moment he touches down."

  "But I saw something over there," a younger voice said. "In the woods, not near the drop-off."

  "Doesn't matter. You don't shoot anywhere near here."

  Kristof leaned toward my ear. "Time to make some new friends. See if they've encountered your pedagogically inclined nymphomaniac." He pushed to his feet. "Hullo!"

  The older voice hailed him and two hands rose in greeting. As I brushed the snow from my jeans, the men approached. Their voices had suggested an older man and a younger one, but I couldn't have guessed which was which. Both were bundled in parkas, with fur-lined hoods drawn tight over their bearded faces, as if it really was subzero out here. Matching hunting vests topped their parkas. Each man carried a modified rifle.

  "Well, hello there," the man with the older voice boomed. "Welcome to Deerhurst, Alaska. Population: a few thousand." He winked. "But only a handful of 'em human."

  "Beautiful place," I said, looking around. I snuck a glance at Kristof. "You, uh, must get a lot of visitors."

  "Nope," the man said. "The transportation code is damned obscure, which is how we like it. Just enough visitors to keep things interesting."

  "So I bet you haven't seen another visitor in...weeks."

  "Not that long, actually. Had a party come through just this morning." He thumped the younger man on the back. "Billy here came with them. Now, let's get you folks back to the lodge. It's getting nippy out." He shivered for effect. "Time for a hot cocoa and brandy by the fire. A proper Alaskan welcome." He started to lead us away, then turned. "Damn it, I've been out in the bush too long. Always forgetting my manners. I'm Charles. You can call me Chuck, Charlie, Chas, whatever you like...though, given the choice, I'll stick with Charles."

  We introduced ourselves, then followed Charles across the snowy field.

  As hunting lodges went, this one was damned near perfect: a two-story log chalet nestled among snowcapped evergreens, wood-perfumed smoke spiraling lazily into the night sky. Icicles from the second-floor balcony glistened in the moonlight. When Charles pushed open the thick wooden door, a wave of heat rushed out, carried on a current of laughter. Inside, a half-dozen men sat around a huge stone fireplace that took up the entire north wall.

  "Got two more," Charles called as he led us in.

  While the men called greetings and introductions, an oversize pet door on the east wall swung open and a gray-brown wolf pushed its way inside.

  "Hey, Marcello," Charles called. "Good hunting?"

  The wolf gave a grumbling growl, walked over, and turned, presenting us with a flank splattered in still-wet orange paint.

  "Lemme guess," Charles said as a wave of guffaws rose from the fireplace crowd. "New guy?"

  A middle-aged man rose from his chair. "How was I supposed to know he was a werewolf? He should be wearing a collar or something."

  Marcello chuffed and tossed a baleful glare at the man, then strode to the fireplace and stretched out in front of it.

  "Marcello prefers his wolf form," Charles whispered. "Hardly ever changes back. Won't hear us complaining, though. I had scores of hunting dogs in my day, but none of them compared to Marcello."
>
  I looked at Charles's rifle as he laid it down. "So you guys hunt with paint balls?"

  He laughed. "The Fates won't let us use bullets, that's for sure. Not that we can kill anything here anyway. Doesn't matter to me. I like it better this way. More sporting...and you never run out of targets." He looked over at Marcello and lowered his voice again. "He can make that paint disappear with a good shake. He's just leaving it on to razz the new guy."

  "So..." Kris said as we moved into the room. "How many new guys do you have?"

  "Four. All first-timers. Real keen on hunting, though, and that's the important thing."

  That certainly didn't sound like Luther Ross. He'd probably touched down, taken one look around, and teleported out again.

  A few minutes later, I was on a sofa by the fireplace, legs stretched over Kris's lap, enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows as Kristof chatted up the hunters, trying to discreetly find out if anyone had spotted Ross. I was only half-listening, having already decided Ross was long gone, and was furiously trying to think up a new plan...one that didn't involve sitting with Lizzie Borden.

  I had gotten about halfway through my drink, and nowhere near a good backup plan, when the door swung open, blasting us with cool air. In walked Luther Ross, a pained smile pasted on his face. A young man followed him in and patted his back.

  "Got ourselves a real hunter here, boys," he said. "Could barely drag him back in, even when I promised him brandy and venison stew."

  Ross's gaze darted about, searching for an escape route.

  "Hey, Luther," Charles called. "Got someone you might like to meet. You know how you were asking if we ever got any ladies up here? Well, you're in luck. One just landed."

  Ross's gaze followed Charles's wave almost reluctantly, as if afraid of what he'd see. When he saw me, he blinked. Then a slow smile lit up his eyes.

  "Well, hello," he said.

  "Uh, one problem," Charles said as the others chuckled around him. "'Fraid she didn't come alone."

  Ross's gaze slid to Kristof and his eyes narrowed.

  "Told you you're in trouble," I murmured. "Better let me handle this one."