“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said quietly. “No thanks to me. Riding with the guys wasn’t a big deal.”
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Does Chuch have a washer and dryer somewhere? I’m out of clean clothes.”
It was stupid late to be washing, but if I knew Chance at all, we’d be planning an assault tomorrow using all our resources. He wouldn’t slow down for my delicates.
“Out here. Let me show you.”
Butch didn’t take kindly to it when I put him down. He trailed after me with a whimper. Poor dog, it had been quite a day for him. We needed to break the news to Chuch and Eva regarding their temporary houseguest and bring his supplies inside.
After hefting my bag, I followed Chance into the shadowy garage. Chuch didn’t use it for cars. Instead he stored tools and boxes, carelessly stacked along the walls. I spied what I thought might be a motorcycle, covered by a tarp. Hard to tell in the dark.
We didn’t turn on a light. I used the illumination that trickled from the open door. I offered no care to my clothes, didn’t separate, just stuffed them all into the washer and washed in cold. He watched me with some amusement.
“It’s amazing you’ve never dyed anything pink.”
The cement chilled my bare feet. “Isn’t it? Let’s go back in,” I remembered the untouched plate of sweets. “Maybe have some cookies and then go to bed.”
Butch appeared disinclined to cooperate. He sniffed around the edges of the garage and then whined, scratching at the side door that led outside.
“Does he need to go out?”
I shrugged. “Up until today, I never had a dog. How do I know? Let’s see.”
After we let him out, Butch did indeed pee on a bush, but then he lowered his nose, tail in the air, and snuffled his way around the house. When he got to the foundation in the backyard, he yapped ferociously. If he’d been a person, he would’ve been yelling, Hey! Hey! Hey, you! Over here! He backed away, growling, and implored me with big damp eyes to come see what he’d found.
“Okay, okay.”
“Good thing Chuch doesn’t have close neighbors,” Chance said, following me.
I went over to see what he had—maybe a chipmunk or a rabbit? But as I got closer, I recognized the stench from the graveyard this afternoon. As I knelt, I broke a twig off the nearby hedge and parted the grass.
My stomach rebelled.
While I crawled away to lose my burger in the bushes, Chance took a closer look. “Christ, who the hell would do something like that?”
Bending, I picked Butch up and clutched him to my chest. I know, I know. Why does a mangled animal upset me so much? Well, people can be sons of bitches. Animals possess an innocence that humans never do, even in childhood.
Somebody had tortured this poor creature to death, and then bound it to a task that would cause it unspeakable pain. Breaking well-placed wards had shattered this animal until I couldn’t tell what it had been in life, just a twitching mound of bloody bone and fur that still tried to creep forward, doing its master’s bidding. We needed to put it down, but I shuddered at the thought.
I wiped my mouth and stood. “Better question is why.”
“To weaken the wards,” Chance realized. His eyes met mine, wide with worry.
“Eva just redid them this afternoon.” But as I looked closer, I saw that the poor thing had crawled around and around the house, insidiously violating the sanctity of the lines drawn in sea salt and wormwood.
“He’s planning to strike again tonight,” he said grimly. “Did she reinforce the wards inside as well? Have you seen Chuch and Eva?”
So much he didn’t know, like Moon’s ill-timed visit, and no opportunity to tell him. I thought I might be sick again. “Not since they went into the office. We need to see if they’re all right.”
We went at a dead run, Butch racing at our heels.
Waiting for a Miracle
Chuch and Eva lay slumped up against the wall. It looked as though they’d been heading for the door when . . . whatever, struck them down. They looked pale as death, and my heart clenched.
Please, not them too.
The dog whined out in the hallway, as if pleading with me not to go in there, but I had to know. To my vast annoyance, Chance pushed me behind him and went in first. He knelt and felt for a pulse. “They’re alive.”
I let out a long breath and tipped my head against the door. “Can you wake them?”
Several minutes passed while he tried to do that. “No. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”
At that Chuch’s eyes snapped open, but it wasn’t him. The intelligence staring out at us seethed with malevolence. “You wanted to find me so badly . . . well, here I am. Come get me. You know where. I sensed your presence earlier today, but you lacked the courage to confront me on my home ground. If you want your friends to live long, healthy lives, you won’t make me wait.” Chuch’s eyes closed.
“He’s going to kill them anyway,” I said numbly. “And us too if we’re dumb enough to march in there.”
“What do you suggest?” Chance swung Eva’s unresponsive body into his arms and carried her down the hall to the master bedroom. With a strength contrasting to his whipcord build, he managed to do the same for Chuch.
“Should we call the paramedics? They’re going to need fluids if this goes on long.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think it will come to that, Corine. If we can’t wake them within twenty-four hours, they’re dead anyway.”
“What does that mean?” God, I was sick of all this metaphysical gobbledygook, sick of magick and cryptic phrases. I missed my shop, missed quesadillas for dinner and a bad Mexican variety show before bed. I liked the one with the fat lady in tight spandex pants.
“There’s a silver cord that binds the soul to the body,” he explained after a brooding silence. “It’s only perceptible in the astral plane. I lived with a girl once who dabbled in out-of-body experiences. One morning, she . . . never woke up.”
There was the loss he’d never articulated—the one that made him enforce emotional distance with me. First time I’d heard of her, and it hurt. I wondered how much he’d loved her for it to change him so profoundly. Did he wonder whether his luck had tainted her astral explorations? Was she lost because of him?
“The cops said her heart just failed,” Chance went on. “But afterward, I did some reading . . . and it seems that the longer someone remains in spirit form, the more nebulous the cord becomes. After twenty-four hours, it dissolves entirely. So if we miss that window, we won’t be able to bring them back.”
Fantastic.
“Let’s see. We’re completely vulnerable here, and the wards are fucked. Chuch and Eva are helpless if we leave them unguarded, and we have less than a day to take out this warlock.” I sighed. “Well, at least we have his address, thanks to Lenny.”
Butch barked.
“That’s looking on the bright side.” Chance tried for a smile and failed. I think we both knew how astronomical the odds were. We needed a miracle.
“And we have to . . . destroy that thing outside.” I shuddered, remembering its uncomprehending anguish.
Butch yapped in agreement. It probably bothered him even more than me.
In the end, we went after the poor little creature with a set of barbeque tongs and stuffed it into Chuch’s grill, where it twisted, squalled, and oozed foul, putrid blood. Chance doused it with lighter fluid, and whatever it used to be, the critter screamed until a column of black smoke boiled forth. Then it disintegrated into ash, inert once more. I hoped to God this bastard necro couldn’t animate ashes; this poor mammal had suffered enough.
With a moue of disgust, Chance closed the metal lid. “We owe Chuch a new grill.”
“That’s the least of what we owe him,” I said. “What are we supposed to do? If you have hidden resources, this would be a great time to fire up the Bat-Signal.”
Chance gave me a weighty look. “Let’s get back inside. I don’t like the air out here.”
No wonder, considering what we just set on fire. I held my tongue, though, and scooped Butch into my arms. The dog refused to let me out of his sight.
For what little good it would do, we locked the windows and doors, and then turned on all the lights in the front of the house, as if they could stave off the dark. Figuring the size of my ass counted as the least of my problems at the moment, I ate half a plate of butter cookies while Chance mulled over our problems.
Butch reminded me with a bark that I still needed to unload his stuff, so I headed out to the Mustang to get his lamb and rice chow, his squeaky toy, and his fuzzy wool bed. The dog watched me through the screen door, barely able to see out while standing on his hind legs.
He must be hungry for dinner. I didn’t know that much about dogs. How often should he eat? I should look it up on the Internet and maybe touch base with Booke too. He might have a helpful suggestion about the warlock we faced.
My arms loaded up, I spun and came up hard against a tall, male figure. He smelled oddly of ammonia, as if he scrubbed himself with Lysol each morning. Kel Ferguson had shorn his hair and acquired some bizarre ritual tattoos on his skull that coiled down the nape of his neck. If I didn’t fear what it meant, I’d say that was celestial script.
Oh, shit.
“You prevented my doing the Lord’s work,” he said in his strange, flat voice.
Bad to worse.
“How did you find me?” I fought down panic. If I tried to push past him, he would break my neck one-handed, but surely Butch would sound the alarm soon. I just needed to stay calm.
The maniac regarded me from eyes so pale they shimmered like crushed ice in the faint starlight. “God sent me.”
My voice wavered. “Oh, really?”
Anytime, Butch. I’m in trouble, boy. Big trouble. The dog disappeared from sight.
Movement in my peripheral vision drew my eye away from Ferguson. For a moment I thought Chance must be coming to my rescue, stealthily making his way around the garage, until I noticed the shadow had no one attached. Darkness sailed toward me, and it carried the unmistakable aura of the grave.
Ferguson hadn’t seen it and I hoped it would veer toward him, seeking the nearest source of warmth. I remembered the thing in the cemetery and knew I couldn’t let it get close enough to immobilize me. But it kept coming, slick as oil and darker than night, roiling over the cracked cement with a hiss that was as much felt as heard. Given the choice between waiting for a closer look at that shade and startling the holy killer, well, I threw my armload of dog supplies at Ferguson and bolted.
Just in time too. A frigid burst of air grazed me as I turned, and my whole arm went numb.
Any minute I expected one of them to grab me. If Ferguson did it, my bones would break. If the dark thing did, I imagined it would feel like death, icy cold and full of hunger that nothing could assuage. Shit, this was bad. As if we didn’t have enough enemies, this warlock had sprung my worst one. I couldn’t imagine how that was possible, but I didn’t have time to speculate. My heart thudded in time to each footfall, fear spiking through my veins in an unpleasant rush.
