Bound by Shadow (26 page)

Riana gazed up at him, and he knew she wanted him to kiss her. The sadness in her eyes told him she also knew that wasn’t a good idea with this audience, and with the
other
creating menace every time their passions flared. He tried to get a breath, felt furious and suffocated, but didn’t frown at her. He wouldn’t take out his rage at the
other
’s interference on her. In fact, he never wanted to frown at her again, for any reason.

I almost lost you tonight, didn’t I, honey?

How did Corey James handle this?

Andy yawned, way too loud as usual. She was sitting up on the couch now, eyeing the ugly naked man on the big oak table. Dani and Maura were standing on the table with the man, one in front, one in back. They had their fearsome swords drawn inches from his back and chest. Shell, the big purple-haired woman, stood to the side. She had adjusted the bonds on his hands, lifted his arms over his head, and she was finishing tying him to the same ceiling beam that Riana and her triad had used to immobilize Creed.

“So if you earthy-types snatch out the bullets,” Andy asked in her slow, sarcastic drawl, “who does the stitches?”

Cynda was busy changing clothes in the corner, discarding her black leathers in favor of a long green skirt and loose blouse. “We do,” she said. “Fire Sibyls are hell on infectious processes. We know how to bring the heat. And Motherhouse Ireland prides itself on fine sewing.”

Creed had a sudden image of a bunch of sword-toting grandmas, flannel nightgowns smoking at the fringes, sitting in a circle swapping curse words and needlework patterns.

“I want to go home,” whined Herbert as his captors left him standing on the table tied to the ceiling beam.

“Shut up,” all the Sibyls said at once.

“You may not want to watch this,” Riana said to Creed.

“I’m watching,” Andy said. “We’re watching. You’re not going to kill him, right? We can’t let you kill him, even if he is a sniveling weasel-fucker.”

“Nah, we won’t kill him.” Cynda picked up her sword and pointed the tip toward Herbert’s shriveled little manhood. “We’ll just neuter him unless he spills what he knows.”

Herbert glared at her and flushed a deep red all over his body.

“If you’re going to watch, then step back.” Riana dug her fingers into the arms of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. “Stay over by the couch, and don’t interfere for any reason. His safety depends on our concentration.”

Creed wanted to protest, but as he watched, amazed, she pulled off her bandages, balled them up, and tossed them in the general direction of the room’s only trash can. The bullet wounds beneath the gauze were neatly stitched and barely red around the edges. The stitches looked to be the modern, dissolvable kind.

Does one of them drive an ambulance?
He shook his head.
They’re probably as good or better than military medics at first aid. Guess they’d have to be.

It did bother him, though, seeing how pathetic Herbert Whatever-his-name-was looked, naked on that table, arms stretched above his head, at the mercy of six pissed-off Sibyls. Creed rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin.

“So they did that to you, huh, partner?” Andy grinned at him. “At least you have a bigger package.” She squinted at Herbert. “Lots bigger.”

Creed wished he had a spare sock to stuff in Andy’s mouth, but he didn’t have to worry. Riana silenced Andy with a ferocious look over her shoulder. Then she turned back to the table, positioned herself on the floor in front of Herbert, and stood very still. Four of the other five Sibyls dimmed the lights in the room, lit a few candles, and took up spots on the floor a few paces away from each other. Merilee left briefly, went to the closet, took out a bag, then stepped into the kitchen. She returned from the kitchen with a sterling silver pitcher. First, she put the pitcher down and opened the bag. Creed watched as she poured what looked like dark brown dirt into the lead-lined trench carved into the oak table’s edge. When she finished walking around the circle, she put the bag down, picked up the pitcher, and made another lap around the table, pouring water into the trench. Not much, but Creed figured it was enough to count.

No sooner had Merilee taken her place in the circle than flames broke out atop the trench. They danced in a light breeze now traversing the room.

Earth, water, fire, air,
Creed’s brain catalogued.
Let’s hope the elements lock Herbert on that table better than they locked me.

The Sibyls didn’t seem worried. In fact, they all appeared to be relaxing into some sort of meditative state.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Creed felt pressure against his ears, heat on his cheeks, and hypnotic breezes blowing back and forth across his skin. It got harder to take a breath. Andy sat heavily on the couch, a sudden look of intense exhaustion on her face. Creed shared her exhaustion, and found himself sinking down beside her and leaning back.

The
other
grumbled and moved around inside him, a distant thrum against the hum that seemed to fill Riana’s brownstone. His inner beast was distant enough, but now wary. Creed didn’t remember much about his initial interrogation by the Sibyls, but the
other
apparently remembered plenty.

Time passed, but Creed wasn’t sure how much. Misty images flickered in the mirrors hanging all around the big table. He thought he saw women in robes, and odd runic symbols, and occasionally, weird Gothic-looking buildings looming in the dark glass. Chimes rang softly, softly, keeping a beat not unlike a human heartbeat, only at different pitches. The smell of smoke and wet earth filled Creed’s senses. Reality bent around him, and he wasn’t certain of anything except the
other
inside him, Andy next to him, and Riana in front of him, right across the room.

“State your name,” Riana commanded.

Creed heard Andy mumble, and he almost said his own name aloud. He had to shake his head, pinch himself, then pinch Andy’s shoulder to get his senses back under control. It helped when Andy popped him upside the head for pinching her.

“Herbert Delwiggin,” the naked guy said. His head drooped toward his chest and he sagged against the ropes holding his wrists above his head. “You don’t want to mess with me. I’ve got friends.”

The chimes pulsed. As if someone had choreographed the movement, the Sibyls shifted around the table so that Cynda now stood on the floor in front of their prisoner. The flames along the lip of the table burned brighter, and Creed caught a bigger whiff of smoke.

“How did you find those friends?” Cynda asked.

“I didn’t find them.” Herbert’s speech was slurred. “They found me. Not the demons, get me, but the guy who made them.”

Creed saw all six Sibyls grow tense. He felt tense, too, as if they might be on the verge of something. The
other
grew more present, pressing forward enough to cause Creed some pain in his gut, but he knew he wasn’t losing control. If things got bad, he’d go downstairs and put himself in the cell.

Chimes rang, and the women around Herbert shifted again. The wind picked up, and Merilee asked the next question. “What was that guy’s name?”

“He called himself Smith. Mr. Smith.”

Creed closed his eyes and opened them as he once more felt a stronger pressure against his eardrums. Chimes. The Sibyls moved. Dani, the other earth Sibyl, spoke in low, clear tones. “Describe Mr. Smith.”

“Tall.” Herbert’s ropes shifted and Creed saw that he was trying to make the gesture for way over his head. “Older guy. Mustache. White hair brushed back. Nice threads.” He coughed. “Karloff in
The Climax,
you know?”

Karloff. Old movies?
Creed made a mental note to look up the flick online and find some stills. Andy twitched beside him, and he figured she had come to the same conclusion.

The chimes rang and the Sibyls shifted. “How did Mr. Smith first contact you?” Maura asked over the intensified flames and pale smoke.

Herbert stood in his stupor for a few seconds, then laughed. Definitely a cracked, on-the-edge laugh. “Sent me a lawyer. Helped me last time you bitches got me arrested. Mr. Smith drove me home.”

More chimes, another shift of the circle, and more wind circling slowly about the room. Shell inquired about the ways Mr. Smith stayed in touch. They asked about phone numbers, addresses, the make and model of the car Herbert had seen, and got nothing much. Finally, when it was Riana’s turn, she asked what Smith wanted.

Once again, Herbert hesitated. When he answered, the word seemed to ripple around the room like a mild electric shock. “Alliance.”

The little man grinned, looking just as cracked as he sounded. “Smith trusted me for names of other people like me, with abilities and stuff. Gave him what I could.”

The Sibyls paused in their questioning, just long enough for Creed to realize how badly this information had shaken them. It lodged in his gut, too. The
other
writhed around, making halfhearted growls in his head. Bothered, but not too threatened. It seemed clear on the fact that this interrogation was happening to some other poor bastard.

These Legion freaks, they’re building allies, carving out territory like some fancy, well-dressed street gang.

Gangs always do that when they’re planning to go to war.

With the next set of questions, the Sibyls made Herbert give them as many names as he had given his mysterious Mr. Smith. Andy had retrieved a pad from the floor and found a pencil, and she scribbled furiously as he spoke.

Over and over, the Sibyls tried questions relating to Smith’s larger purpose, but Herbert didn’t seem to know. Whenever they asked about what Mr. Smith hoped to accomplish, all Herbert would say was, “He’s gonna make things right.”

Yeah. Right for who—or
what?

As the night wore on, Herbert wore down. It became more and more apparent to Creed that the man had blabbed all the useful knowledge he possessed. A few moments later, the Sibyls seemed to come to the same decision. As one, all but Cynda broke away from the table.

Instantly, the odd pressure in the room dissipated. The chimes stopped their rhythmic pulse, and some of the mirrors went dark and still.

Cynda picked up her sword, unsheathed it, and climbed onto the table. The fire in the trench parted to let her pass. As she took a position directly in front of Herbert, Creed’s nuts actually contracted.

Goddamn, is she really going to neuter him?

She raised the sword, and in one powerful stroke, cut through the rope holding Herbert’s hands aloft. His arms dropped, and Herbert dropped, too, collapsing on the table’s broad surface. He didn’t move, but he was breathing regularly, so Creed figured the guy had passed out.

Cynda tossed the sword to the floor and started to dance around Herbert’s unconscious body.

Creed swallowed. He wasn’t certain he had ever seen anything so bizarre. Yet Cynda moved deliberately, with purpose, and Creed sensed another change in the room. More tension. A brightness. A sense of something big about to happen.

The other five Sibyls stood in a straight line, holding hands. They seemed to be supporting Cynda somehow, concentrating their formidable energies and lending them to her. The flames ringing the table flared higher, and the chimes started a different sort of ring. Creed could swear the sound was dancing along with Cynda, from pipe to pipe and set to set, circling, circling, just as the fire Sibyl was circling.

After a few minutes and a growing swell of chime-song, Cynda shifted to dance in front of the oldest, darkest, most ornate mirror. The way Creed and Andy were sitting, they were facing it with her. Creed kept his eyes on the glass.

His gut clenched when fog appeared in the mirror. It brightened, as if someone had trained a light on the mirror’s center. Then it started to swirl.

Every hair on his body came to attention as a wild energy buzzed around the room.

Something’s happening. Right now.

“What the fuck?” Andy whispered. She stood slowly, letting the pad and pencil drop to the couch behind her.

The
other
shouted in Creed’s mind, and he stood beside his partner. If he’d been wearing his sidearm, he might have put his hand over the grip like Andy. He couldn’t take his mind off that mirror, or the image forming inside the glass.

A woman came into clear view, dark-haired like Riana but much younger, dressed in flowing brown robes. She was standing in a stone chamber, and huge sets of chimes hung all around her. The big pipes swayed and hopped on their strings, and Creed knew they were ringing, too.

On the table, Cynda started to whirl in a circle, arms over her head.

The woman in the mirror bowed, then paid rapt attention. Every so often, she nodded. Creed had a sense that Cynda was telling the younger woman everything that had happened recently, along with what they had learned from Herbert.

A lot like giving a report. Just…more complicated.

Cynda’s dancing slowed, and the woman in the mirror danced for a few moments. Her gestures were more clumsy, less polished, but she got through whatever she wanted to communicate.

Cynda picked up speed again. Her arms moved up and down, and she circled around Herbert three times.

The other woman in the mirror nodded, then receded from view. She returned maybe a minute later, leading a bent, stooped figure dressed in heavy, hooded robes. The robes were brown like the ones the young girl wore, but with ornate green embroidery. Creed saw that the elderly woman—for the figure did appear to be an aged female—walked with a staff that had blue, green, red, and sparkling white jewels inlaid along its carved crown.

When the old woman was fully before the mirror, she straightened and pushed back her hood.

The
other
let out a shriek of anguish and terror, slammed through Creed’s chest, then dropped away like a rush of physical discomfort. It happened so fast that Creed didn’t have a chance to fall. He swayed and Andy steadied him, giving him a look that said,
What?