Ghostcountry's Wrath (42 page)

“We'll file that for reference, though,” Calvin replied, noting absently that they'd now reached the fringe of civilization—if more than one convenience store visible at a time was civilization. Up ahead and to the left a set of silos loomed like a concrete castle.

“So what does that leave?” Sandy wondered.

“It leaves,” David volunteered from the cab, “one of the island Worlds like that one Cal and me rescued Finno from, or like that one our friend Myra Buchanan talks about that overlaps out at Scarboro Faire.”

“Or Galunlati,” Alec finished for him. “Which we should've thought of first.”

Calvin nodded. “That's a possibility. On the other hand, it's obvious—maybe too obvious.” He looked at Okacha. “Is there any way Snakeeyes could get to you in Galunlati?”

She gnawed her lip. Then: “I don't know of one, but I do know he's real interested in that kind of thing—which may be one reason he wants Cal's scale—or the ulunsuti. But I suspect that if he keeps on like he is, he'll get there anyway.”

“He'll get more than he bargained for, too,” Alec snorted.

“But it's too much of a risk—both for Galunlati, if he gets there, and for everybody else if he gets back.”

“Which means it's best not to give him any more reasons for going there than he's already got,” Sandy observed dully.

“There's another problem too, folks,” Calvin reminded them. “In case you guys don't remember, we were forbidden to return there until a year's elapsed—and that won't be up for a couple of days yet. And if we
do
send 'Kacha there, one of us probably oughta go with her to make introductions, and all. Or at least we oughta check with Uki before we start sendin' folks there.”

Sandy nodded sagely. “Yeah, from what I've seen of him, it wouldn't do to dump unexpected visitors on him, plus, we don't want to bring trouble to someone who's not involved.”

“On the other hand,” Alec broke in, “it's a big place—which means Uki might not find her for a while. And if she's only looking for a place to hang out temporarily…”

“Yeah, but then Usunhiyi would do just as well,” Brock countered.

“Except that we could send her there a lot faster,” Calvin told him. “All we've gotta do is light a fire and burn an uktena scale—which can be done in a car if we have to. I mean, Dave and me zapped there from one once.”

“And got lost, too,” David muttered. “Don't remind me.”

“Yeah, but it still sounds like our best bet.” Calvin sighed. “What d' you think, 'Kacha?”

The panther-woman frowned thoughtfully. “Well, given that I can't stay here, and would probably get thrown out of Usunhiyi before I would Galunlati, I'd have to agree—much as I hate to admit it.”

Calvin nodded grimly. “You guys
do
have scales, don't you?” he asked those in the cab. “I'd volunteer mine, but they have to be treated if you're gonna use 'em to world-hop, and mine hasn't been; it's only good for shapeshifting—and I'm not sure how many of them it's got left.”

David pounded the steering wheel. “Doesn't matter anyway,” he groaned. “We don't have any.”

Calvin rolled his eyes and slapped the fiberglass bed-liner. “Well that's just dandy!”

“Sorry!” From Alec.

“Hey, but wait!” Calvin cried suddenly. “You guys don't have scales—but we could still open a gate. Remember how we used the ulunsuti to open one back at Stone Mountain? To that place they had Finno? And then again down at Cumberland?”

“And we've
got
the ulunsuti!” Liz added excitedly.

“Yeah,” David grunted as he brought the car to a halt at the first traffic light, still a mile north of Athens, where Jefferson River Road turned off to the left. “But you need the blood of a large animal to prime it.”

“True,” Calvin admitted. “And that's gonna be hard to get in a hurry—unless we use our own, which I'd rather not do. Trouble is, it's not huntin' season, or anything.”

Okacha looked thoughtful. “Does it have to be
one
large animal?”

Calvin shrugged. “I dunno. That's how I learned it. At the very least it has to be warm, and there has to be enough of it to soak the ulunsuti when you put it in a bowl.”

“Hmmm,” Okacha mused, glancing toward the back of the truck, where a clump of dark-feathered bodies still lay. “Well, those guys are probably still warm—and I bet there's at least a couple of cups of blood in 'em.”

“We
could
stop at a grocery store and buy some,” Brock suggested, with a touch of sarcasm.

Sandy shook her head. “Most carcasses are drained before they're shipped for butchering, even when it's finished in-house. Plus, it'd be cold too. Plus 'Kacha couldn't go out in the rain—which it's doing again, if you count drizzle. Which means we'd have to split up, which I don't think is a good idea.”

“Which blows that,” David groaned. “At least in the kind of hurry we're in.”

“And it still leaves the small problem of when and where to do this ritual,” Okacha noted. “Now that the rain's slackened, Snakeeyes'll be after us pronto.”

“I doubt he'd confront us openly on campus, though,” David countered.

“Except that I can't
be
open on campus,” Okacha shot back, “not while there's this much wetness.”

“Good point,” Sandy acknowledged. “But, uh, what exactly do you need, anyway?”

Calvin counted on his fingers. “You need the ulunsuti, which we've got. You need a bowl to put it in, and blood to fill it. You need at least a small fire. You need a bunch of herbs, some of which I've got, some of which—”

“What herbs?” David called. “I've seen it done, but I've forgotten.”

Calvin told him.

David scowled thoughtfully. “And that's all? You're sure?”

Calvin nodded. “I've got the rest—I think.”

“Good.” David grinned as he gunned the Ranger across the bypass and onto Prince Avenue, “'cause I may know just the place. But we'll have to hurry.”

“We already are,” Brock observed dryly. “Or haven't you noticed?”

“Hush,” Calvin told him. “Don't forget that you're a large animal, too!”

Chapter XXII: Lab Test

“Hey, that's
Ilex vomitoria!”
Calvin cried, as David braked Liz's pickup to a halt in the parking lot behind one of the older brick buildings on the University of Georgia's north campus—Baldwin Hall, it was called: seat of the anthropology department. He'd been there once before, on his previous visit. Fortunately, only two cars were in evidence at the moment: a newish red Isuzu pickup and a pristine black '61 DeSoto—the last year. He hoped this wasn't
his
last year.

“Ilex what?”
Brock asked, scowling—and promptly flopped back on his butt as David shifted into reverse and maneuvered toward a long raised concrete platform which probably served as a loading dock. A metal awning overhung a green steel door there—which choice of destinations showed excellent good sense on David's part, given Okacha's situation and the fact that it was still drizzling.

“Ilex
what?” Brock repeated, when stability had been restored.

“Vomitoria,”
Calvin replied absently. “It's those bushes along the backside of the building, the ones with the shiny leaves. The Southeastern Indians used it to make white drink—which
you
guys call black drink. It's a kind of holly, and it's pretty potent stuff—'specially if you need to puke. It's also used in rituals, conveniently enough.”

“What is?” David echoed from where he'd just unlatched the camper's back window.

“Those bushes there,” Calvin sighed as he climbed out—first, in case the coast wasn't as clear as his friend was assuming. It was, evidently, or at least no one was around and the sky was free of birds, if not sprinkles. Alec and Liz were already on the dock, angling for the door. David was fishing in his pocket even as he helped Sandy and the dazed-looking Don down from the tailgate. Okacha came last, sheltering her head and arms with Calvin's jacket as she leapt the yard or so that was open to drizzle in one fluid motion. Sandy shot out an arm to stabilize her when she landed.

Calvin paused to gaze warily around. It was less than half an hour after sunset, which meant the sky still held light, though not much, because of the clouds. As he'd noted before, the lot was all but empty (it had to be faculty parking, too, this close to the heart of campus, but he doubted many anthropology profs worked late especially during finals). And even more fortuitously, the side away from the building was thoroughly screened from both a bank and the street below by a line of walnut trees. “You're a good man, Sullivan,” he grinned as he joined his companions. He clapped David on the back.

“Why?” David wondered, fumbling with a key ring.

Calvin pointed to his right, past the line of
Ilex
toward a low concrete retaining wall beyond which a few straggly conifers marked what remained of the old Jackson Street Cemetery after Friedman Hall had been built. “Cedar—lots of cedar. Lots and
lots
of cedar.”

“Protection against witches,” Brock supplied helpfully.

“I know!” David growled, and unlocked the door.

“What're you doin' with a key to this place, anyway?” Calvin wondered in a low whisper as he followed his buddy into a large room lit only by the light filtering in through high, grimy windows. Most of the floor was taken up with man-tall piles of boxes alternating with ranges of metal shelving he could tell were dusty, even in the dimness.

David waited until they were all in, tugged the door, and let it click closed, which locked it. He did not turn on the light. “This is the anthropology department, in case any of you missed that,” he explained, likewise keeping his voice low. “I'm a work-study student here, cleaning potsherds and stuff. Only this quarter I had a screwy schedule, so I had to work nights. And since the building's locked at night, they had to give me a key.”

“Trusting fools,” Alec added in something between a snort and a chuckle.

“So…is this it?” Calvin wondered, indicating the cluttered room.

David shook his head and indicated a door to his left. “This is the archaeology lab—one of 'em. Mostly it's a holding area, actually. We've gotta go up a level.”

“I still think this is a dumb idea,” Alec grumbled as David steered them toward the exit.

“It is,” David agreed, producing another key. “But not as dumb as doing it outside. Okacha doesn't dare get wet, remember? And we're too easy for Snakeeyes to get at elsewhere. Inside—well, he's less likely to mount an attack here in town simply 'cause he's too likely to attract attention. Plus, doing it inside puts one more level of protection between us and him.”

“Yeah, but—”

David glared at him. “Look, Alec, I thought we worked this out: Liz's Townies were home; Myra's having folks to dinner; our room's too susceptible to unexpected interruptions, and we don't have two hours to spend calling around looking for somebody willing to let us use their place for a ritual without question—
okay
?”

“Cool it, you guys,” Liz hissed. “Time spent arguing is time wasted.”

“Good point,” Calvin acknowledged, then nodded at David. “Lead on.”

“Not hardly,” David grunted. “Come on: upstairs.”

Calvin followed him through the door and into a spartan stairwell. They were exactly halfway between floors, and thus utterly exposed, when a doorknob rattled above them.

“Oh, shit!” Liz gritted.

“Bullshit, more aptly,” David whispered back. “Let me do the talkin'.”

At that moment the door opened, revealing a ruddy-faced, white-haired man who looked rather like an overgrown leprechaun—or would have, had he not been dressed in a blue Oxford shirt and khaki trousers, and been lugging a briefcase instead of a shillelagh.

“Dr. Hudson!” David cried, dashing up the remaining steps two at time, leaving Calvin to gape stupidly and wonder how scuzzy he looked.

“Mr. Sullivan,” the man nodded, peering at David over the tops of his glasses. “This is an odd time for you to be about, isn't it?”

“Well, I've gotta work nights, if you recall,” David shot back quickly. “Only I had a buncha friends blow into town outta the clear blue, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and catch up with them while I caught up on my shards.”

The man studied David for a moment, then shrugged, muttered, “Long as it gets done,” and started to ease past him—and everyone else on the stairs.

“Oh—Dr. Hudson,” David called. “I, uh… That is, actually you might wanta meet a couple of these folks.”