Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven (26 page)

“Put
her there, Morté Tescién.” He pointed a long-nailed finger at the table on the
left.

Royal
laid my body on the table and arranged my arms and legs.

To
me, those tables looked too much like altars. I shuddered.

Shan
touched a dangling earring. “Ryel, you come into my presence armed.” His hand
moved to lay flat on his heart. “Your distrust wounds me.”

When
Royal said nothing, Shan dropped his theatrics. Though his features might have
been carved of ivory for all the expression they showed, his voice turned cold
and hard.  He slapped a palm on the table on the right. “Put your weapons here.”

Royal
dragged the heavy, ugly revolver from his pocket. He reached under his coat and
in one smooth motion drew forth the sword. Stepping to the stone table, he placed
them side by side.

Shan
looked at the weapons. “Where did you get these, Morté Tescién? They are not
the style of weapons I expect you to carry.”

“I
found them Downside,” Royal said woodenly.

“You
must have grasped I would ask you to disarm?”

“One
can always hope.”

Shan’s
chuckle lacked any trace of humor. “Hope is an emotion you should discard.”

He
snapped his fingers.

Two
huge man-shaped things materialized out of thin air. Literally. One minute
Royal, Shan, Baelfleur and the blood mage Arthemy stood in the room, in the
next two hulking beasts each grabbed Royal and Bel by the upper arms. Eight
feet tall and blocky with snub noses, flat lips and small dark eyes, their gray
skin looked rough, like granite.

Scared
witless, I let go of Royal’s aura and skittered away from the hulking beast holding
him.

The
monster restraining Lawrence grunted and looked down on the boy’s head. What he
felt didn’t match what he saw, but he said nothing.

Royal’s
entire body strained, his mouth twisted in a snarl and muscles popped out all
over the place, the veins in his temples bulged. Royal is strong, but he
couldn’t move an inch. Baelfleur didn’t try. The horror in his eyes was
unmistakable.

“A
cloaking spell,” Arthemy said with a hint of a smile. “I’m rather proud of it.”

Helpless,
scared almost out of my mind, I dug my nails in my palms but didn’t feel the
sting I expected.

Where
were River and Rain? Castle’s ghost was supposed to be here, to call them in at
the first opportune moment.

I
drew my Ruger. The Station Master said guns didn’t work properly but River said
his did, and this was Downside, a place made of magic. Maybe my gun
would
work.

It
didn’t.

“Agh!”
I threw the gun at Shan with all the power of my arm. I lost sight of it as it
left my hand, and felt its weight return to the holster snugged into my side.

“I
lied. I have no interest in discussing terms with Lord Lawrence.” Shan walked
to the circle and stood with his back to us. “What an interesting place is
Downside, where magic is not human tomfoolery but the stuff which gives this
world life. Essence, drawn from the ether and manipulated by those with the
talent to do so. Did I mention Arthemy is also a soul shaper? I believe I did.”
Shan walked along the table, fingertips of one hand brushing the black blade.
“My friend can do more than steal spirits from living bodies. He will switch
mine and Lawrence's souls.” He turned his face to the mage. “Tell them,
Arthemy.”

“The
rich and elderly of Gettaholt want nothing more than a healthy young body when
they near their end. Some find their way to me. I have exchanged many a soul between
bodies with no fatalities.”

He
took the spirit from a dying old man or woman and put it in someone else’s
body? What about this other person? I don’t imagine they volunteered. Did their
soul go into the elderly, dying body or be set adrift? The sheer dreadfulness
of what he did made me ill with revulsion.

Royal’s
lip curled with disgust. “What of the donor?”

“Not
your concern,” Shan said. “I will occupy the High Lord of Bel-Athaer’s body. I
will open the Gates and return to Bel-Athaer, where I will rule.

“My
dear brethren do crave to be there when the Gates to our dimension open, but
that is where our aspirations diverge. They have thrown in the towel, so to
speak. They want nothing more than to return to our dimension. They will leave
the Gelpha to make what they will of Bel-Athaer. But I . . . I will find my
people, rouse them and lead them to Bel-Athaer. Under my command they will
destroy the abominations we so willfully and carelessly bred. I will open the
Gates to your world and we will conquer it. And this place.” A sneer creased
his smooth face. “These creatures should not exist. I will destroy them.”

People
who lived here called their world Downside but Angelina spoke of it both as a
world and as an entity that plied the magic which shaped this place, and a kind
of . . . custodian? Confusing? I kid you not. Did she communicate with this
entity? Did it guide her? She sent us to Rain and River who just happened to
know a sióga prince who could impersonate Lawrence.

Why,
when according to everyone we spoke to this place had a huge criminal
population and bad things happened all the time, did it take an interest in
Shan? After all, it let the Dark Cousins in, in the first place.

Now
I knew the answer. Angelina was right when she said Downside hadn’t as such let
Maggie in, it wanted Royal and he insisted on bringing her. It knew Shan planned
to ruin this hidden world and wanted Royal stop him.

“And
Tiff?” Royal fixed Shan with a black gaze guaranteed to shrivel another man.

Shan’s
eyes drifted to my body. “Arthemy will restore her. I want her to see her lover
die.”

Die?
Ice rippled through my veins. He meant to kill Royal.

“And
although she can bear witness as she is, a soul set adrift, I want her here in
person. I will savor her response, the helplessness, grief and rage in her
eyes. And she interests me mightily. I will keep her. I look forward to
breaking her.”

Royal
struggled again, muscles straining, face contorted with rage, loathing and
fear.

“Blood
and magic,” Shan mused. “We have magic in abundance.” He turned, and one hand
swept to encompass the mage and his circle. “We need only the blood.”

As
he looked at the monstrosity holding Royal, Shan’s tone chilled me to my core.
“Take him to the circle.”

No!
Royal was the sacrifice, his blood would activate the spell.

To
Arthemy, Shan said, “Begin.”

The
great beastly thing propelled Royal forward. He tried to dig in his heels, use
his elbows to jab it, but it resolutely pushed him along and Royal was a toy in
its grasp.

Arthemy
came to the table, took the small container and carried it to the circle. He
chanted in a low voice as he crept around the perimeter, letting the pail’s
contents dribble through his fingers to create a white line on the black
circle. For the first time, I noticed four fat brown candles sat on what might
be the four corners of the compass.

The
white circle complete, Arthemy returned the pail to the table and walked the
circle again, lighting each candle with a snap of his fingers. All the time, he
chanted in a language I didn’t recognize, his voice gradually becoming louder.

Oily
black smoke roiled on the floor inside the circle and the air stank of sulfur.
The greasy smoke climbed to fashion a shape, churning as it formed. A head
wearing pointed projections, a thick body, the beginning of arms and legs.

Facing
the circle, Arthemy lifted his arms and chanted louder. Lips parted, Shan
watched.

In
the foul smoke, smoldering crimson eyes blinked open.

Although
I prayed the wraiths would come, their entrance made my heart skip a couple of
beats when they rolled into existence a few feet from the wall.

What
they showed us in their apartment is difficult to describe. They seemed to
slowly lose substance and become slightly hazy to the eye. Their claim they
could disappear altogether stunned me like nothing else. Rain said they moved
short distances before they rematerialized, including through solid objects. But
although they penetrated barriers, their clothes and weapons didn’t make it
through.

Chris
demanded a demonstration. Rain laughed and refused.

So
Rain and River burst in the room naked, and in other circumstances I’d look everywhere
except at them. Rain reached the table first and plucked up her sword. She
didn’t miss a beat, took several steps and swung at Shan. River came behind her
and grabbed his pistol.

But
Shan stepped in and lifted his hand to block Rain’s sword and the stroke which
should have taken his head severed two fingers, spraying blood as they fell. Shan
hissed and slid aside but didn’t lose his focus; his other hand, fisted, shot
out and connected with River’s chest, punching him across the room. The lad’s
gun went flying, it hit the floor and skittered until it struck my table’s leg,
and River slammed into the wall. His head struck with a sickening crunch and he
slid down, leaving a sticky trail of blood and black hair on the plaster.

He
faded until he was no more than a watermark on the wall, and disappeared. It
happened so quickly, I would have missed it had I blinked.

He
came back instantly, on one knee on the floor, and bounced to his feet as if he
had not sustained a dreadful head injury. Shan stood between him and his gun as
the Cousin easily dodged every swish of Rain’s blade. My jaw dropped to see River
without a mark on him.

Shan
soared, he floated in the air, and kicked Rain’s sword from her hand. In my
mind’s eye, I saw a deserted factory in the bowels of the High House, Shan with
gore dripping from his fingers, Royal immobile in an ever widening pool of blood
on the floor. It was over apart from Shan tearing Rain to pieces.

But
he landed lightly and beckoned with one hand, inviting Rain to retrieve her weapon,
which she did without a moment’s hesitation.

This
was a disaster. They were supposed to take Shan by surprise and kill him. But
it all went wrong. Held immobile by the huge men, Royal couldn’t help. A sense
of futility flooded me.

Rain’s
shuffling feet toed one of Shan’s severed fingers. It rolled into the circle.

Shan’s
fingers, a blood sacrifice . . . . The thing in the circle solidified in
seconds. Slick skin like black vinyl pulsed and writhed as if a million tiny
worms moved beneath it. Fingers ended in talons, black fangs lined the red
mouth and two horns spiraled like bone corkscrews.

Your
typical run-of-the-mill demon.

River
ducked and rolled, and was gone. He appeared near the tables, took up the knife
and threw it overhand. It should have skewered Shan, but the Cousin moved at
the last minute and the blade whizzed past him and struck the wall.

River
went for his gun, but Shan somersaulted over Rain and backhanded him. River’s
feet left the floor. He blinked out in midair.

Shan
was playing with River. Playing with both wraiths. He could have killed River
with one blow, but he pulled his punches. He could have taken Rain’s sword away
and killed her, but he continued their dance with a sparkle in his eyes.

Movement
near the circle pulled my head around. River was near the wall, edging toward
the circle.

Arthemy’s
voice thundered now, but ended in a surprised yelp as River’s feet hit his back
and catapulted him inside the circle.

Bulging
arms caught Arthemy and folded on the mage.

A
giant hand grabbed my midsection. I yelped as it tugged me sideways.

Into
my body.

I
lay there, disoriented, and squinted blurrily at my long body clad in a
ridiculous hospital gown and a rucked blanket, at my hands lying neatly at my
sides.

I
gaped like a fish as air thundered into my lungs. My blood sang in my veins, my
nerve ends tingled. Colors looked brighter, sharper. Life coursed through me.
It was unimaginably glorious. I felt invigorated, I could fly, I could leap
tall buildings in a single bound.

And
I was me, Tiff Banks, lying on her back on a stone table.

I
rolled my head to the side. Nothing much had changed in the few seconds my soul
took to settle in my body. Rain continued to hack at Shan with ferocious
concentration. Her body gleamed with sweat; it ran into her eyes but she didn’t
blink. Shan’s lips pulled away from his teeth in a malicious smile as he gracefully
swayed and slid and angled out of her sword’s path with inhuman precision. I knew
nothing of Rain’s experience with a sword, but I doubted she had ever gone
against anyone as fluid as Shan.

My
fingers twitched. I lifted one hand. The back was bruised and stung from the IV
needle, and I loved the sting. Rolling to my left hip, I experimentally pushed
up on my shoulder. The blood drained from my head. I closed my eyes and felt as
if I drifted. Black dots floated behind my eyelids.

Get
it together, Tiff. You don’t have time for this.

I
opened my eyes and managed to get on one hip. And found myself on the floor, on
my knees, without knowing how I got there. I fell forward on my hands, got hold
of the gun and dragged it to me. I needed to clench it between my knees and use
both thumbs to cock it, and getting it positioned in my hands and lifted seemed
impossible. It was one heavy mother.

I
held the gun and tried to line the sights at Shan as my finger tightened on the
trigger. My hands wobbled badly. That’s when I discovered the damn thing had a
hair trigger.

Unsurprisingly
I missed Shan. The bullet hit the ceiling as the gun’s recoil knocked me on my
back and the air from my lungs.
Oof.
The report was horrendous, it
sounded like cannon fire. It startled everyone, including Shan. Alarm flickered
in his eyes, he dipped and turned his head.

Everyone
but Rain.

She
swung two-handed. Her sword cut deeply into his neck, so deep it must have
severed his trachea.

Till
my dying day, I will never forget his expression, wide-eyed, disbelieving, as
he stood motionless.

Rain
wrenched the blade free, a thin stream of blood jetted from Shan’s neck. She swung
again and the sword sheared through flesh and muscle, severed his spinal cord
and his head tumbled from his shoulders.