Deadly Curiosities (46 page)

Mirov had replaced his Sig with long silver throwing shivs. He and the demon rounded on each other, both bleeding from more wounds than I could count, both a little shaky on their feet, and both utterly intent on destruction. A deep gash ran from Mirov’s left eyebrow to his chin, and a slash to his right thigh left him limping.

Chuck looked worse for the wear as well. I wasn’t sure what he still had left of the weapons he’d grabbed from his bag of tricks, and I didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Chuck dove toward the demon, this time with a bigger version of the EMF disruptor I had seen the night we had fought the minions at the store. He gave the demon a good jolt, enough to distract him while Mirov sent two of the silver shivs spinning toward the demon.

One lodged in the demon’s throat, and another struck him in the belly. Both sank deep into the demon’s body, and the monster roared and twisted, its red eyes slitted in pain and rage.

Teag secured the head wrap more tightly and gripped his fight staff as we braced for a new onslaught of
akvenon
. Four more minions came at us this time, and the shadow men pressed forward, coming at us from all directions.

Teag and I were fighting back to back. He had been able to use his threads to force-net two of the minions, but that didn’t stop the shadow men. He put his hand on my shoulder and loosed another hemp knot. It kept me on my feet, but I wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. I knew the head wrap held some of the power of the Loa Ogoun, a fierce warrior, and I figured Teag was in need of some otherworldly support right about now, too. Teag let go of me and drew his short sword. Staff in one hand, blade in another, Teag’s Eskrima training was getting good workout.

Moran seemed to be throwing everything he had left at Sorren and Lucinda. I had enough on my plate with the minions and shadow men, but the magic they were trading back and forth lit up the inside of the old warehouse like the Fourth of July. Sorren’s sword was red with Moran’s blood, and I could see dark vampire blood on Moran’s blade. It was a toss-up on who could stay on his feet longer.

“Incoming!” Teag shouted, as the minions ran at us. Teag had expended all his magic except for the protection of the embroidered flat scarf and his blades. I hoped it would be enough, because I was almost out of tricks myself. While the magic in the walking stick and the spoon-athame and the whorl wasn’t really my own, summoning the energy to use my gift to touch the memory of that power drained me more than I’d realized.

Bo kept barking, trying to keep the shadow men at bay. One of the minions skittered in fast and launched itself at Teag. Teag used his staff as a lever to leap up and land a kick to the minion, sending it flying into the darkness across the room. The other minion came at me, knocking me to the ground. I screamed as its claws slashed into my shoulder, and on instinct, my hand came up, and blasted it with the whorl’s white-hot power at point-blank range.

The
akvenon
squealed and hissed like a crab on a hot griddle as its thick-scaled skin peeled away and its rancid flesh began to burn. I gagged on the stench and got my feet up, slamming into the minion and hurling it as far away from me as I could.

One of the shadow men caught Teag just as he got his feet under him, and grabbed at his shirt, shredding it down the back. Teag whirled, striking with his staff, but the pole went right through the shadow man. Swearing under his breath, Teag backed away as the shadow man’s long fingers sank deep into his left arm, raising deep cuts that welled bright with blood.

“Get back!” I shouted, and Teag dropped and rolled as I got off a shot with the bright force of the athame.

It pushed the shadow man back, but more were coming, and I as I struggled to my feet, I despaired of making it out alive.

Dozens of shadow men rushed toward us, and I knew I was going to die. But just as they were about to reach for us, a cold, damp tide of fog rolled in, rising between us and the shadow men, and in that mist I saw the faces of the men Moran had murdered for his demon. Jimmy Redshoes, Kevin Harvey, Fred Kenner, Russ Landrieu, and his crew and the nameless vagrants whose murders no one had noticed.

They rose like a wall between us and the shadow men, shoulder to shoulder, surrounding us, holding the worst at bay – for now.

Sorren looked almost as bad as when we had been attacked at the warehouse. His hair hung lank around his face, he had the pallor of a corpse and he was bleeding in more places than I could count. He seemed to be baiting Moran to come at him, diving back and forth, tempting Moran to venture further out from his place in the middle of the demon’s nest.

Mirov, too, seemed to be drawing the demon to him with a sudden round of frantic attacks. Chuck bellowed a Rebel Yell and leaped onto the demon’s back, bringing a military-issue bush knife down with all his might. Chuck struck again and again at the demon’s spine as Mirov slashed and thrust with his sword.

Chuck was covered with black ichor and his own blood, but I could see the determination in his face.

He leaned forward and slashed his blade across the demon’s throat as Mirov lunged, sinking his sword deep and drawing it down in a move that would have eviscerated any living creature.

Moran loosed a blast of white light at Sorren, and I realized as Sorren screamed and fell back, skin blistering and charring, that it was simple daylight conjured as magic that might be our undoing.

Lucinda saw an opening and rushed past Moran, scooping the Baphomet Orb into her arms and dodging back, carving a clear path with an exceptionally strong flare from her staff.

Moran raised his arms to the ceiling. With a sizzle and snap, the overhead lights in the building suddenly pulsed on, with a surge that sent sparks flying from the overloaded lights. Bulbs popped, and the smell of burned wiring filled the air. In the momentary flash, we were blinded, and I knew Moran was moving in for the kill.

I couldn’t see, but I could hear. The minion came at me, clicking and snapping, hurtling through the air.

The ghosts couldn’t stop it, and my eyes hadn’t adjusted yet. I felt Bo’s ghost brush against my left leg, so I dove to the right, clutching the whorl in one hand and the ring in the other for clarity.

The minion’s sharp claws ripped through my left shoulder and I gasped. Blood flowed down my arm, and it hurt like hell. The minion’s feet clattered on the concrete floor, and I heard Bo barking like a hellhound. As my vision slowly returned, I used Bo’s barks to maneuver out of the minion’s way. It meant I dodged the worst of the blows, but not all of them. By the time I could see again, blood was running down my face from a cut on my scalp, my right thigh had a gash that was going to need stitches, and I had only narrowly missed being clawed down the belly.

I thrust out my right hand, shoving the
akvenon
away and blasting it with magic at the same time, choosing the white-fire of the whorl to do the most damage. It shrieked and writhed, withering from the point-blank hit of magic. Teag’s staff came down hard on its skull, crushing bone, and with a sweep, he kicked it out of the way with a move that should have been in the World Cup.

He swung his staff in an arc, knocking another minion off its feet and slamming down the staff on its back. He had his short sword in his right hand, and as the third
akvenon
leaped at him, Teag got under it, bringing his blade up and through its belly as I scrambled out of the way. The
akvenon
screeched, impaled on the ensorcelled blade, and ichor gushed over Teag’s sword. He jerked the blade free and the minion fell to the ground. He swung his staff, batting the writhing body back at the other three approaching
akvenon
. They fell on their bloodied companion, ripping it to shreds, temporarily forgetting us.

Teag gave me a hand up. His hand was warm and slick with blood, and I could see that in the few seconds we had been blinded, the minions had taken a toll on both of us. “Some night out, huh?” he joked. His face was streaked with sweat, blood, and ichor, blackened from the dust that covered everything.

Lucinda stood in the intersection of the corridors, staff upraised, head thrown back. Her body was twitching and bucking as if ridden by an unseen power, and I smelled the scent of pipe smoke, stronger now. It seemed to me that another power overtook Lucinda, and I saw the image of a gnarled old man in a straw hat, leaning on a cane.

Behind Lucinda, it looked as if the rest of the storage building ceased to exist and an infinite well of blackness had opened up, blotting out everything else. Somehow, I knew that this blackness was different from the shadows and darkness that had clutched at me in the unit. This was the darkness between stars, the darkness of the grave and what lay beyond. And in that moment, my limited knowledge of Voudon gave me the name for what I saw.

Papa Legba, Master of the Crossroads, the Loa who held the keys to the afterlife, possessed Lucinda, and it was into his arthritic hands we would send the demon back where it came from.

Moran screamed and pointed his wand at Lucinda, shrieking curses at her. But the power Lucinda had called encircled her, and the harm Moran intended rebounded, striking him full force. He fell back, coughing up gobbets of blood, as began to shake and scream as if he were being shredded from the inside out.

Sorren dove forward and swung with his full vampire might, severing Moran’s head from his body.

Moran’s body continued to buck and twist, grabbing for Sorren blindly, animated by unholy magic.

Mirov glanced away for just an instant, and in that second, the demon struck. One clawed hand dug deep into Mirov’s shoulder, ripping his left arm from his body. The demon jerked forward, sinking its teeth into Mirov’s neck. Mirov spasmed, managing to thrust one more silver shiv into the belly of the demon before the creature gave a vicious shake, breaking Mirov’s neck and throwing him clear.

Lucinda’s chanting rose above the chaos of the winds, and I clung to its sound for sanity. I stared at the double image of Lucinda and Papa Legba like a drowning man searching the horizon for rescue. The staff rose, and the agate gem flared a brilliant, red light that swept across the corridor and the unit, clearing the area like a blast wave.

I fell flat on the ground, and the shadows and energy that had pulled at me were swept backwards with an irresistible force. Lucinda/Papa Legba raised the Baphomet Orb to the sky, then hurled it into the maw of primal darkness that loomed behind them. It exploded like a supernova, sending a pillar of fire up through Building Four’s rusted tin ceiling, rising into the night sky.

Lucinda stood at the intersection of two corridors. A crossroads. I reached into my pocket and grabbed the vial of dirt and kufwa dust and hurled it to the ground just behind where Lucinda was standing.

Cold, cleansing wind swept through the storage unit, sweeping past us with a rush, and in the frigid air, ghostly hands reached forward, grabbing hold of the demon and holding him tight as he struggled, howling his rage. The winds snatched up Moran’s bucking and writhing headless body, heedless of the dark blood that surged from the stump of his neck, impervious to his grasping, bony hands.

The ghostly jailers dragged Moran, his minions and the shrieking demon toward the portal. Just as he tipped into the abyss, Chuck reached into a pocket and lobbed what looked like a grenade into the darkness after the demon. There was a flare of blindingly white light, a deafening boom, and the acrid smell of chemicals.

Abruptly, the portal closed. The shadow men disappeared.

The vision of Papa Legba lingered a moment longer, and the smell of pipe smoke replaced the stench of the demon, wafting through the brick building. The old man beckoned toward the ghosts that still stood sentry around Teag and me: Jimmy and Kevin, Fred, and the others. Like weary refugees, they turned toward Papa Legba, drifting toward the place where he stood. When they reached him, they and the Loa vanished. In the distance, we heard a dog bark three times. Wind, sound, and shadows disappeared.

“What the hell did you throw at the demon?” Teag asked, staring at Chuck.

Chuck’s jacket was covered with blood and ichor. His gimme cap was long gone, and sweat beaded his forehead. His clothing was shredded and he stood like he’d broken some ribs.

“Just a little Willie Pete,” he said with an exhausted grin. “White phosphorous grenade. Couldn’t use it before without killing the rest of us, but in the right spot, it makes a nice flash-bang.”

I thought there really should be some kind of response to that, but I was too exhausted to think of it. I sagged against Teag, as the adrenaline rush faded and I let a different kind of darkness sweep over me.

“W
E WON
,
DIDN
’
T
we?” I woke to find myself in my bed in my own house, with Baxter snuggled by my side. My arms had fresh bandages and I could feel more gauze on other body parts, beneath the covers.

The drapes were pulled closed, but the nightstand lamp cast the bedroom in a warm glow.

“Mostly.” Sorren was sprawled in an armchair, looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. One glance at the glimmer of light beneath the closed curtains told me it was daylight, but my vampire business partner had not gone to ground.

“It’s dangerous. You should be in the basement,” I murmured, and the words sounded slurred even to my own ears.

“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t go outside. How are you?”

I looked at Sorren, and realized that the gashes had healed from last night’s battle. He had cleaned up and discarded the ripped and soiled clothes for a t-shirt and shorts, and if it weren’t for his pallor, he might have looked like a college student with a bad hangover. Except for the eyes. Those were ancient.

And right now, it was clear that he was worried about me.

“I’ve felt better.” Baxter woke when he heard my voice, and wriggled up onto my chest where he could lick my face and my nose. I hugged him, and he snuggled against the dog collar on my left wrist as if he were cuddling up to an old friend. They say dogs can see spirits. Perhaps he and Bo had made friends.