by Faith Hunter
“That’s good. Drag in a desk and a chair and anything else you need. I love you, sister mine.”
“Barricade. Yeah. I can do that. I love you too. Be careful.” My sister raced to my office, taking whatever she needed to be safe in the makeshift sleeping room. I went to the conference room and logged on to the communications channel of PsyLED. There were messages already waiting. I opened the one from the local witches, who had been avoiding this case and Unit Eighteen as if we had the plague. The greeting was to T. Laine, but the e-mail had gone to the PsyLED address available to the general public. It read:
Tammie Laine Kent,
A demon is being summoned.
The Knoxville Coven of Witches
I sent the message out as an emergency text to the cells of every PsyLED member, which was the easiest part of the communications I needed to transmit. I then sent them a text about Rick and the grindy, which was a little more complicated. If someone was listening in or reading the text, I had to make sure they understood that Rick had gone into the cage voluntarily, not been forced into his cage by the grindy. Then I had to tell the unit about Soulwood’s reaction, the most tricky part. I hadn’t exactly told them that my land was semisentient or that it wanted to be fed blood. I wasn’t going to tell them that now, either. I reread the last part twice before I sent it. It said simply, I felt it through the earth. A large blood sacrifice. I may be able to track it but need protection. I didn’t add that I needed protection from roots trying to grow into me. Or that the blood was still flowing. Or that Soulwood was awakening, reaching toward the blood. So many things I couldn’t add.
In less than thirty seconds I had replies from Tandy and T. Laine and the rest of the team. They were in vehicles, coming to HQ. Coming to me. Then a text came from JoJo, private, to me. Call FireWind. We need him.
I was shaking, so I made a pot of Community Coffee, which was all the unit drank, wondering why Jo didn’t call our new boss. I poured a cup. Added milk and a lot of sugar to combat my shakes. I ate the last donut in the box, and it was stale and crumbly and it wasn’t the blood my land wanted, but it settled my stomach. I drank down the coffee for the caffeine.
Ayatas FireWind’s number was in my cell. We all had his number. I punched it. He answered.
“FireWind. Nell Ingram, right?”
“Yes.” I stopped.
“Ingram?”
I was shaking again, not sure why talking to the boss I hadn’t yet met was making me so shaky. “Are you in Knoxville?” I managed.
“Yes. I just checked in to my hotel.”
“You might want to come to HQ. The . . .” I hesitated and found the proper term in my memory of Spook School classes. Remembering it settled me. I could do this. Steadily I briefed FireWind. “The blood sorcerer has begun a major sacrifice. He’s using a lot of blood. Rick was called to his cat and climbed into a silvered cage with a grindy before he shifted. The team is on the way in. I’m going to read the earth and see if I can locate the sacrifice site. If I can, we might need you for backup since mundane cops won’t be any help.” We didn’t know what effect the curse would have on humans. FireWind wasn’t human, and the effect on his species was in doubt too, but I didn’t say that.
From Rick’s office I heard a heavy body hitting metal. The cage rattled hard. Rocked up, slamming down. I peeked through the glass office wall and saw a black leopard in a cage. The calling/curse spell had forced my boss into his cat, inside of silver. That might have forced Rick-the-human to sleep and allowed the wereleopard to take over. And the leopard was trying to get out of his cage. Ramming the walls. The grindy screamed. I felt more blood.
“Is LaFleur being summoned?” FireWind asked.
“Yes.” I wanted to see if I could calm Rick, but the blood sacrifice that was attracting Soulwood’s attention might make things worse.
My cell buzzed and I glanced at the screen. Yummy. Dagnabbit. The vampires might be feeling the spell too.
“On my way. ETA fifteen,” FireWind said. “I’ll bring Loriann Ethier.” The call ended.
I answered Yummy’s call but no one was there. No voice mail. I sent a fast text. Spell of calling. You okay?
I realized that Loriann was likely staying in the same hotel as FireWind. The curse and the blood pulled at me. I wanted. I swallowed. Groaned. Sat down. Missed my chair, spilling the last sip of my coffee from my mug. I leaned my back and head against the wall. Time passed.
And then Occam was kneeling beside me. He murmured, “Nell, sugar. I’m here.” He touched my shoulder.
I threw myself into his arms. And burst into tears.
* * *
• • •
The spell of childish tears didn’t last long, but it was enough to ease my misery. It helped that Occam was murmuring sweet nothings into my ear, his jaw by my temple, his chin bristly with scruff. He was sitting on the floor with me, holding me. “I gotcha, Nell, sugar. You done good. It’s okay.”
“Not really,” I said. “I tried to drag your desk in front of Rick’s door.”
Occam chuckled. It sounded growly through his chest.
“FireWind is on the way in,” I said. “He’s bringing Loriann. And Mud is barricaded in the sleeping room. Is FireWind gonna be mad that she’s here?”
“Do we care?” my cat growled.
I thought about that. “Not really.”
Occam stood and hauled me to my feet as the outer door opened. I smoothed my clothes and said, “Thank you. I feel better.” And I did. Soulwood wasn’t yanking on my brain so much. I found my chair and this time managed to sit in it. Occam told Mud I was okay, then cleaned up the coffee mess I had made, rinsed out my metal mug, and poured me a fresh cup. JoJo and T. Laine came in from dropping things off in their office cubicles. Rick slammed against his cage again. The grindy chittered in anger. Tandy came in, carrying a bowl of fresh fruit. My coworkers poured coffee. Took their seats. Tandy passed the bowl around and I took a banana. Peeled it. Everyone looked exhausted. I had waked some of them up after too few hours of sleep. The schedule was getting to all of us.
“I’m thinking I can read the land through the soil on the roof,” I said to them.
Occam stilled, thinking. “How?”
“You and Rick put Soulwood soil there for me to plant things in. The soil is touching the roof. The roof is touching the earth through the three stories and the foundation. So maybe I can read the earth and track the blood without accidently getting rooted, since there aren’t any roots in the dirt.”
“Or maybe the earth will send up magic-roots and swallow the whole building trying to get to you,” T. Laine said, sounding grumpy.
I gave our witch a small smile. “Soulwood soil will protect me from other pieces of the earth trying to claim me.”
“Is that what the roots are trying to do when they grow into you, Nell, sugar?” Occam asked. “Claim you?”
“Or merge with you and with Soulwood,” T. Laine said.
It was a possibility that had already occurred to me. I didn’t know what would happen if I once again communed too long with land that grew roots into me. I might lose myself, might become a tree for real and forever. I took a breath that showed nothing of my apprehension, but Occam touched my shoulder again and I knew he could smell the anxiety coursing through my veins.
Suddenly talking fast, T. Laine said, “FireWind’s here, and he’s got Loriann Ethier with him. Tandy, open the null room door. Nell, are you going to be okay with him observing?”
“Oh,” I said. Not really. No. Make him stay away. “Sure,” I lied. Because I had no choice. I had called FireWind in. He was here.
I heard the upstairs door open and swiveled in my chair to see two figures enter and one disappear into the null room. It didn’t appear to be voluntary. The door closed and Ayatas FireWind walked up the hallway. He was half a foot or so taller than Tandy, taller
even than Occam or Rick, maybe six feet three or four. Rangy. His stride was long and purposeful and smooth, as if he walked barefoot. Long hair flowed behind him in an ebony wave. He was dressed in black jeans and a white shirt that contrasted with his coppery golden skin. A strong nose. Black hawk-wing brows. He was Cherokee; I remembered that.
The rest of the unit had worked with him. I hadn’t even met him.
FireWind paused in the doorway, his eyes on me. He was sniffing the air. And . . . Ayatas FireWind had yellow irises. No one had mentioned that. I took another breath, this one less steady. I didn’t know what to do. How to react. I knew what yellow eyes meant. “Skinwalker,” I whispered. I had known that Ayatas FireWind was an unspecified paranormal, but not a skinwalker. That had to be need to know. Or need to figure out. But Rick knew. He had to.
Suddenly all sorts of things made sense. Thoughts raced through me, tiny pieces of puzzles I hadn’t known were even in play slipping into place. His official history was full of holes. He was Cherokee and looked like Jane Yellowrock, who was a skinwalker. And I had just outted him.
FireWind dipped his head at me. It wasn’t quite a bow. More in the nature of a formal greeting. And he didn’t smile. Not. At. All. My blood froze through me like ice water, chilling me from top to toes.
“It is true,” he said. “You scent of yinehi.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “Nothing like a fairy or elf or troll has come out of the paranormal closet.”
FireWind smiled slightly. Finally. It was like watching an iceberg thaw. “The little people are said to smell of oak and running water, sweetgrass and white sage. And just a little of the blood of the earth.”
Occam poured himself a coffee, scrutinizing our new boss, now that the skinwalker was out of the closet. He nodded thoughtfully as if what he now knew agreed with what his nose had been telling him about FireWind.
“The children of our family were taught that the little people would steal us and eat us if we were not careful. They were the boogeymen of the forest, used as a warning and a punishment if we were bad. Though no one I knew ever saw one, we were trained to be aware and to run back home if we smelled them.” His smile fell away. “Mine was the last generation to be taught to smell out the little people, as there were none where I grew up.”
“I don’t eat people.” My land does. Had my species once eaten children? My stomach did a little rolling flip of nausea.
“So I have been informed,” he said solemnly, “and I am grateful.”
“Jane Yellowrock is your sister,” I said baldly.
Tandy’s head jerked up. JoJo slid her eyes to me. “Need to know, probie,” she said. Meaning that I should have kept my big mouth shut.
“Yes,” FireWind said softly. He didn’t sound angry. His expression didn’t change.
“Does Rick know?” I asked.
“LaFleur knows almost everything.”
“Well. Okay then. I’m going onto the roof to read the land.” I got up and walked from the room, FireWind stepping aside in time for me to not bowl him over on the way.
* * *
• • •
I had seen the square of wood planks that held the fifty gallons of Soulwood dirt. I had come up once and looked at it. It still bothered me, though saying why was beyond me. Maybe because the dirt was piled in a rough wood cage or low fence atop a flat-roofed, three-story building when it should be attached to my land. I knew that the high-in-the-sky part didn’t really matter, but it just felt wrong.
Dirt in a pot or on the flat, smooth roof, it didn’t matter. The soil knew Soulwood, was a part of Soulwood, and was therefore part of me. The mineral-based, modified bitumen surface could be easier to work around, or through, than old-fashioned tar.
The dark of early night grayed everything, and my eyes began adjusting to the lack of light. The door opened and shut slowly, on its own gravity power, and I watched as Occam peeled back a tarp, revealing the soil. The air was heavy and muggy and my skin was already slick with sweat in the heat. Lightning flickered on the horizon, and I hoped that might mean rain soon and cooler temps.
I kicked off my shoes and blew out a hard breath. The pale gray-white roof felt odd and sort of slick beneath my bare feet, still warm from the day, and nasty. The roofing material was a modified bituminous membrane roofing. The name sounded like pure minerals, but the bitumen was contained in atactic polypropylene, a chemical that I was pretty sure was toxic to plant-people. I could feel my body fighting off the chemicals and curled my fingers under, hoping I didn’t grow leaves while up here, as part of my body’s immune response. I didn’t want the new boss to see them. He might know some things about me from reports, but that was a lot different from seeing me grow leaves. That felt oddly personal and intimate for a relationship that didn’t exist yet.
I stepped onto the dirt. It too was warm from the summer sun, and I wriggled my bare toes into the soil, sighing in happiness this time. I was home. I let go of all the tension that had squeezed my chest and hunched my shoulders and accepted the faded pink blanket Occam extended. I hadn’t thought about the blanket in my truck. I used the blanket when I read the land, and though I could likely read the land just fine without it, it was comforting to have. I dropped it and plopped to my backside on it. The loose soil gave and I sank farther before it compacted and I stabilized. I shuffled my hands beneath the surface of the dirt. Occam knelt beside me in the dark, his blade exposed and ready to cut me free.
Ayatas FireWind exited the door from the third floor, arriving last, probably after inspecting Rick and giving orders to the rest of the team. He took up a place behind me, his back to the waist-high wall that protected us from accidently falling and landing on the concrete below.
I closed my eyes and reached slowly for Soulwood. The land was here. And there. I merged myself from here into my land and followed it down and down, through the brick and steel and mortar and deep under the foundation. And out, seeking. There was broken rock to one side, a ridge of hills over there, and deep alluvial soil in the Tennessee River valley, left from ancient floods. There were buildings that had been dug deep, many stories down. Power plants that thrummed into the earth. Dams and tributaries and islands in the water.
Soulwood reached for the blood that was still being poured onto the land, an elastic and thirsty yearning. The blood-sorcerer sacrifice was still taking place. There. I was ready for it this time and I shoved down on the bloodlust that tried to grab me, tracking the blood. There. Only a few miles away. I was grateful for Occam’s presence. He seemed to mute the effect of the bloodlust. I could search in safety.
Something else, something darker than my land, reached out. Fast. Latched on to me. I knew it. The vampire tree. It too was sensing the blood from the sacrifice. It too felt a rising bloodlust. The tree sent its vision of the Green Knight into my mind, its armor made of metal in the shape of overlapping leaves. A crusading tree. And now there were two of us searching for the witch circle, which made it simultaneously easier to find and harder to resist. The witch circle was . . . there.
“Occam,” I whispered, a mere breath of sound.
I felt him sit behind me, encircling me with his arms, his legs out around mine. I leaned back against him, feeling his magic wrap around me, sigh through me. His magic was tied to Soulwood. Was tied to me. It hugged me like a warm blanket in winter.
There was a time when this type of contact would have been unpleasant, would have been a reminder of John and other things best forgotten. But it wasn’t, not any longer.
“Do I need to cut you free, Nell, sugar?”
“Not . . . yet,” I whispered.
“In that case, I need you to breathe.”
I took a breath, long and slow, and realized I hadn’t taken one in a while. Too long. I followed the blood, resting in Occam’s embrace, not giving in to the bloodlust that would make me claim the sacrifice for
the land and then claim the earth there itself. And . . . thereby claim the curse for myself. Oh . . . that was possible. Care and care and greater care, I thought.
I placed the river bends. The direction of the flow. The position of the moon, still below the horizon. The hydroelectric power plants. The Watts Bar nuclear power plant, not so very far away, a beacon of heat and light. I also located the places where the earth was poisoned with radiation from the power plant and the testing at Oak Ridge. Classified places of poison and death and secrets. Secrets I could never share because there was no way I should know about them.
I let myself be drawn back to the sacrifice. To the blood.
And maggots.
SIXTEEN
“Vampires are being called,” I muttered. “Yummy hasn’t called me. Someone needs to contact the Master of the City. See if they’re being summoned this time too.”
I heard FireWind’s voice on his comms system, relaying the message.
“Occam,” I whispered, “I need a map of Knoxville. A paper map.” I meant most anything nondigital that magic wouldn’t ruin, remembering the paper map T. Laine had shown us once. Occam said something to FireWind and I felt more than heard his steps move away. Occam kept his arms around me.
Softly, his lips at my ear, he said, “What do you think Jason used as sacrifice?” He was asking if a human had been killed.
“I don’t know.” But mostly I just didn’t want to guess. Not yet. Minutes passed.
“Is he still at the curse circle?” Occam asked.
Bloodlust shuddered through me, but leaning against Occam eased the power of the spell. “Yes. He’s killing another . . . something. Someone?”
I hadn’t heard anyone return, but the quiet, crinkly sounds of a map being unfolded pushed back the silence. I opened my eyes and tugged one hand from the soil. I had slumped against Occam and he pressed on my spine, helping me sit up.
FireWind knelt on one knee and offered me T. Laine’s map of Knoxville. I thought about the rivers and the tributaries, the moon and attraction of magnetic north, which I could feel as a deep steady draw in the earth. I turned the map and placed a finger on the paper. It landed on Mascot Road in a bend of the Holston River. “Around here? Is there someplace he could use here?”
