We turned the corner. Down the hall, a beefy security guard had a partygoer pinned against the wall. Beside him a red-haired woman bounced, hands clutched by her mouth, doing absolutely nothing to help her date, just whimpering and gibbering.
“We were looking for the ladies’ room,” she said. “The other one was full. We didn’t know this part of the museum was off-limits.”
“The guy broke my fucking nose,” her date mumbled, trying to talk with his face mashed against the bloodied wall. “This isn’t about being outside the party zone. Call nine-one-one before this psycho kills me, Tara.”
“You don’t need to yell at me, Rick,” she whined.
I recognized the voice and the names. Tara Dunlop. During our debutante year we’d approached something like friendship, ending when she caught Rick with me in a back hall a lot like this one. The fact that he’d been pinning me to a wall at the time hadn’t mattered. I was the little slut who tempted her boyfriend. When I’d had a breakdown as my powers hit, she’d made sure every one of our acquaintances knew why Hope Adams missed her high school prom: because the psych ward didn’t grant day passes.
Karl peered down the hall. “Isn’t that . . .?”
“Uh-huh.”
I’d told him the story after Tara tried luring him into a back room at a New Year’s ball.
“Perhaps allowing a sacrifice or two isn’t such a bad thing,” he said. “Seeing that I can’t open the soul box, this might be our only way to get him back to Hell.”
“Tempting,” I muttered as I began walking toward them. “Very tempting.”
“Oh, oh!” Tara chirped. “Someone’s coming. It’s—” She leaned around the security guard. “Oh.”
The guard turned my way. His eyes flashed yellow. “You are early, my princess. The sacrifice is not yet complete.”
“Princess?” Tara said.
“Sacrifice?” Rick yelped.
“Is this a friend of yours, Hope?” Tara said. “Figures. Bet you met a lot of them in the loony bin. Is that where you met him, too?” She gestured at Karl. “I heard it was a dating service. Goldiggers-R-Us, for rich girls too crazy to get a real boyfriend.”
“Last chance,” Karl whispered to me.
“Did someone say sacrifice?” Rick said. “Can we talk about that? Please?”
“There will be no sacrifices,” I said, walking over to Nybbas. “I thought I made that clear.”
“No, princess. You asked that no sacrifices be made on your behalf. That means you do not wish the deaths to weigh on your conscience. A human failing, but I understand. I will make the sacrifices for you and—”
“And no.” I stepped so close I could smell the guard’s cheap cologne. “I do not want the sacrifices. I command—”
The guard’s body collapsed at my feet before I could finish.
“We need to get that box open,” I said as we strode down the hall, having left Tara and Rick making a beeline for the back exit. “Are you sure you don’t remember how you did it?”
“Yes, I do. I’m just pretending otherwise to liven up a dull evening.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you,” I said. “But okay. Sorry. We need a backup plan, then. I know Paige and Lucas have a dispossession spell that might work, but we’d need to get them here from Portland. Meanwhile, this bastard has free run of a building filled with potential victims. We need to get everyone out so we can—”
The vision flashed again. I pushed it aside faster now, recovering after only a split-second blackout. When I came to, though, I found myself staring at a red box on the wall.
I glanced over at Karl. He plucked a glove from his pocket, and pulled the fire alarm.
As plans went, it was far from foolproof. For one thing, as the partygoers streamed toward the exits, their chaos washed over me . . . and washed away any chaos being caused by Nybbas himself. Then someone shouted, “Where’s the tour group? Has anyone seen them yet?” and I looked over to see the closed doors to the new exhibit.
I yanked on the door. It didn’t budge. Karl grabbed it and heaved, tendons in his neck bulging. Then, with a crack, the door flew open and we raced through.
Inside, it was pitch black and silent. Chaos thrummed through the room. Then a whimper, followed by a harsh whisper, someone urging silence.
“I can smell you,” a woman’s voice sang. “I don’t need lights to find dirty, stinking humans.”
When the fire alarm sounded, the lights must have had gone off. Now they were trapped as Nybbas hunted them.
“I’ll stop him,” Karl whispered. “You stay here.” He pressed the box into my hands. “Work on this.”
“I can’t—” I began, but he was gone.
I held the box, fingers running over the jewels. He was right. Opening it had been a fluke the first time, impossible to repeat. All we could do was catch whatever body he’d jumped into and get these people to safety before he grabbed a new one. With a room filled with fresh bodies to possess, though . . .
Shit.
I turned the box over in my hands, touching the jewels randomly, frantically, as I strained to hear Karl.
“Is that a wolf I smell?” the singsong voice said.
A grunt, then the thud of a body hitting the floor. A woman started to scream. Karl apologized and laughter rang out—in a man’s voice now.
“You may be a fast wolf,” Nybbas said from his new body. “But you aren’t nearly fast enough.”
A scream made me jump, and I nearly dropped the box before I realized it was just the vision again. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced it away.
Then a woman shrieked, “Get him off me. Get him off me!” and footsteps thundered across the room. A thump, as Karl grabbed the demon off his new victim. A laugh as the demon jumped bodies. Only this time I recognized that deep chuckle. Recognized it very well.
“Get out of him!” I said. “I commanded you—”
“Not to kill him.” Nybbas giggled. “I won’t. I promise.”
“I command you—”
“I can’t hear you!” Nybbas said. “Can’t hear anything. I will return to my master and tell him what I have done, and he will be pleased. You can’t stop me, princess. I won’t let you.”
I tried ordering him again, but he just kept getting louder, drowning me out.
The vision threatened again. I pushed it back.
“Now I can smell you even better, humans.” Nybbas inhaled deeply. “Better sense of smell. Better night vision. Better hearing.” He chortled. “This makes it almost too easy.”
I turned the box over. I just had to hold this damned chaos vision at bay long enough to concentrate—
I stopped. Chaos vision. Of Nybbas’s incarceration.
“There you are,” Nybbas said. “Come here, human. Let me taste—”
An oomph and a hiss as whoever Nybbas caught escaped. Then a clatter and a howl of rage as he tripped over something.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapped my hands around the box, and cleared my mind. The vision hit with what felt like a left hook to the temple. I hit the floor, and everything went dark.
I heard the demon’s screams. Then chanting. Then a man’s voice reciting the incantation. I blinked hard, and the vision came clear.
I stood in a temple. At the altar, a bearded man held the soul box aloft. Women in red robes ringed him, chanting. At his feet a bound man struggled.
The sorcerer pressed the jewels on the box. The lid flung open.
One of the women took a knife from her robe, raised it, and stabbed the bound man. Stabbed him over and over while the sorcerer continued the incantation. As the last word left his mouth, the demon was ripped—still shrieking—from his host, a yellow pulsing light being dragged toward the box. When it disappeared inside, the sorcerer smacked it shut.
I snapped from the vision, but the screams continued. A woman’s screams now, her nails scratching the floor as Nybbas dragged her. I quickly hit the jewels in sequence as I recited the incantation.
In the vision, the host had been killed to free the demon, but everything I’d heard about dispossession told me that wasn’t necessary. I prayed it wasn’t necessary.
As I hit the last jewel, the box popped open. I squeezed my eyes shut, and finished the last words.
“No!” Nybbas shrieked. “Mistress, no! I will obey you. I will—”
Yellow light flashed, then a glowing ball streaked toward me. When it disappeared inside the box, I slapped it shut. The box rocked and jumped. Then it went still.
• • •
We didn’t trust that Nybbas was gone. After escorting everyone out of the exhibit, I assured my mother and grandmother that we were fine. Then, as the fire trucks arrived, we sneaked back inside and canvassed the museum. It was empty. No humans. No demons. Just us, staying two steps ahead of the fire crews.
We replaced the soul box. Keeping it would only alert the museum to the theft. Better to return later with help to seal the box forever.
We were heading for the exit when Karl whisked me into a closet.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
“I don’t hear anything.”
He lifted me onto a crate. As he pressed against me, I felt a bulge . . . in his tux jacket. I slid my hands inside the coat.
“You did steal something!” I yanked out a box from the hidden pocket. “Damn you, Karl—”
“Shhh. You don’t want us to get caught. Particularly if I did steal something.”
“Bastard,” I hissed.
I pushed him away. It was a jewelry box, one he must have brought, so if he got caught, he might convince a naïve guard it held only a gift for his girlfriend.
I opened the box and tugged out the contents. A diamond solitaire ring.
“Not stolen,” he said.
On each side of the diamond, there was an engraved symbol for eternity, matching the charm Karl had bought for me last year. The writing inside matched my charm, too. Three words: No matter what.
“Yes, I haven’t gotten any more poetic. No more romantic either.” He gestured around the closet and made a face. “In my defense, I did try. It seemed perfect—returning to the place we first met. It didn’t quite work out the way I planned, though.”
I lifted the ring. “So is this . . .? I mean, is it what it looks like?”
“Ah, sorry. I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Let’s try that again.” He put the ring back in the box. “I know this isn’t what you want right now. That’s fine. I’ll wait. But someday, when you’re ready . . .” He held out the box. “Will you marry me?”
“You’re still asking after tonight? You saw what you’d be getting yourself into, right?”
“Let’s see . . . High-society in-laws on one side. The Prince of Darkness on the other. A demon princess for a wife. A lifetime of chaos and general anarchy. Is that what I want?” He met my gaze. “Absolutely.”
He lifted the box. Before he could ask again, I took out the ring, looked up at him, and put it on.
About the Authors
KEVIN J. ANDERSON’s first novel, Resurrection, Inc., was nominated for the Stoker Award. Of his hundred or so published novels, a few have been horror, particularly his international bestselling X-Files novels, though he is best known for his epic science fiction and fantasy (Dune novels with Brian Herbert, his own Saga of Seven Suns science fiction epic and his Terra Incognita fantasy trilogy). He and his wife, Rebecca Moesta, have also written the lyrics for and executive produced two rock CDs from ProgRock Records. Anderson is the editor of seven anthologies, including the three bestselling science fiction anthologies of all time. His cats, however, are not particularly impressed.
SAM W. ANDERSON lives in Denver, Colorado, with his wife, two children, a goofy golden retriever dog, and several skeletons taking up residence in his closet. His fiction has appeared in many venues: online, print magazines and anthologies. Postcards from Purgatory, a collection of his short stories, was released from Sideshow Press in April 2010. Feel free to mock him at his web site: www.samscrap.com.
KELLEY ARMSTRONG has been telling stories since before she could write. Her earliest written efforts were disastrous. If asked for a story about girls and dolls, hers would invariably feature undead girls and evil dolls, much to her teachers’ dismay. All efforts to make her produce “normal” stories failed. Today, she continues to spin tales of ghosts and demons and werewolves, while safely locked away in her basement writing dungeon. She’s the author of the Women of the Otherworld paranormal suspense series, Darkest Powers young adult urban fantasy trilogy, and Nadia Stafford crime series. She lives in southwestern Ontario with her husband, kids, and far too many pets.
L. A. BANKS, the recipient of the 2008 Essence Storyteller of the Year award, has written over forty novels and contributed to twelve novellas in multiple genres under various pseudonyms. She is a graduate of The University of Pennsylvania Wharton undergraduate program with a master’s in fine arts from Temple University, and is a full-time writer living/working in Philadelphia.
MIKE BARON is the writer of Nexus, The Badger, The Architect, and many other comics. He lives in Colorado with his wife and dogs.
ALLISON BRENNAN is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of fourteen novels and four short stories. Best known for her dark and edgy romantic suspense, her latest Seven Deadly Sins series shifts to the supernatural with the premise, “What if the Seven Deadly Sins were incarnate demons released by witches practicing the dark arts and seeking immortality?” The San Francisco Examiner said Original Sin is “Seductive, suspenseful and exquisitely written,” and the Providence Sunday Journal called the series launch “A new genre classic.” Carnal Sin was a summer 2010 release, and Allison’s Lucy Kincaid romantic thriller series begins in early 2011 with No Way Out. A California native, Allison and her husband are raising their five kids outside Sacramento. Visit her at allisonbrennan.com or sevendeadlysinsbooks.com.
EDWARD BRYANT was seduced from science fiction into horror long, long ago while on a long, descending elevator ride with Dark Forces editor Kirby McCauley. Since then he’s written a considerable procession of short horror stories, including several about the psychic detective who appears in this anthology. Recently Ed was pleased to see Kim Bassinger star in the feature film While She Was Out, based on one of his stories.
Inspired by a lifelong love of nature, endless curiosity, and a belief in wonderful things, AMY STERLING CASIL is a 2002 Nebula Award nominee and recipient of other awards and recognition for her short science fiction and fantasy, which has appeared in publications ranging from The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction to Zoetrope. She is the author of twenty-one nonfiction books, one hundred short stories, primarily science fiction and fantasy, one fiction and poetry collection, and two novels. She lives in Playa del Rey, California, with her daughter, Meredith, and a Jack Russell Terrier named Badger. Amy has worked since 2005 as a nonprofit executive for the progressive charitable organization Beyond Shelter in Los Angeles, and she currently teaches writing and composition at Saddleback College, after receiving her MFA from Chapman University in 1999. She is currently the Treasurer of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.
DEREK CLENDENING lives and works in Fort Erie, Ontario. When he isn’t writing or reading, he pursues his deep interest in sports. He is a die-hard fan of the Buffalo Bills (isn’t that scary enough?) and the NBA’s Toronto Raptors.
DON D’AMMASSA has loved horror fiction since he found a battered copy of Dracula at an early age. He is the author of seven novels, 150 short stories, and hundreds of genre related articles and book reviews. He currently lives in Rhode Island with his wife, Sheila, two cats, and 60,000 books.
HEATHER GRAHAM is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over a hundred novels including suspense, paranormal, historical, and mainstream Christmas fare. She lives in Miami, Florida, her home, and an easy shot down to the Keys where she can indulge in her passion for diving. Travel, research, and ba
llroom dancing also help keep her sane; she is the mother of five, and also resides with two dogs, a cat, and an albino skunk. She is CEO of Slush Pile Productions, a recording company and production house for various charity events. Look her up at the originalheathergraham.com, writersforneworleans.com or eheathergraham.com.
BRIAN J. HATCHER is an author and poet from Charleston, West Virginia. His work has appeared in Weird Tales magazine, the celebrated Legends of the Mountain State series, the poetry anthology Leonard Cohen, You’re Our Man, and the Stoker award-winning Writers Workshop of Horror. Brian is currently editing his first anthology for Woodland Press, entitled Mountain Magic: Spellbinding Tales of Appalachia. You can find Brian online at www.brianjhatcher.com.
Over the past twentysome years, NINA KIRIKI HOFFMAN has sold adult and YA novels and more than 250 short stories. Her works have been finalists for the World Fantasy, Mythopoeic, Sturgeon, Philip K. Dick, and Endeavour awards. Her first novel, The Thread that Binds the Bones, won a Stoker award, and her short story “Trophy Wives” won a Nebula Award in 2009. Her novel Fall of Light came out from Ace in May 2009. Her middle-school novel Thresholds came out from Viking in August 2010. Nina does production work for the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. She also works with teen writers. She lives in Eugene, Oregon, with several cats and many strange toys and imaginary friends. For a list of Nina’s publications, check out: ofearna.us/books/hoffman.html.
JANIS IAN has won multiple Grammy Awards since her first nomination at the age of fifteen. Her songs have been recorded by artists as diverse as Joan Baez, Willie Nelson, and Spooky Tooth. Her autobiography, Society’s Child, was an O Magazine summer must-read. She enjoys her day job, but would prefer to write science fiction. Visit her at www.janisian.com.
NANCY KILPATRICK is not known for her humor. This award-winning author of dark fiction puts a rather depressing spin on both life in general and in her work specifically. Still, on occasion she laughs and then, voila! Out comes a humor piece, like the one in Blood Lite and now “The Ghoul Next Door,” included in this diabolical sequel you are holding. This disturbing trend toward amusement shows little sign of abating and can only add a surprising element to her body of work which includes eighteen novels, five collections, over 200 short stories and the ten anthologies she’s edited. You can find out more about this demented writer at www.nancykilpatrick.com.
Blood Lite II: Overbite Page 34
