King of the Dead (Jeremiah Hunt Chronicle) (31 page)

With a quick jerk of the reins, the Angeu brought the cart to a halt. He slowly raised his head, staring out across the dozen or so feet that separated us. I could feel his gaze upon me, but I knew what that gaze could do, and this time I was ready for it, focusing on the center of his chest and refusing to meet his eyes.

Behind him, his ghostly army began its crossing, stepping out of the land of the dead and returning to the land of the living. As they passed through the curtain, they fanned out on either side of the flaming circle that held their master captive, moving steadily in my direction. The eldritch fire in their eyes reflected the hunger and desperation that rolled off them in waves, and I knew that if this vast host ever reached the city itself, there would soon be nothing left worth saving.

With what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders, I put my harmonica to my lips and began to play.

49

HUNT

It was a light, whimsical tune at first, the kind of thing designed to catch your attention and draw you in with its lilting melody. I filled the night air with its intricate dance, snaring the ghosts’ attention with my song, forcing them to pay attention to me and me alone.

As more and more of them turned their gaze in my direction, I added a new dimension to my tune, a secondary melody that was darker and more powerful than the first. It sang of loves lost and chances missed, of striving for but failing to reach the goal, of opportunities gone and efforts squandered.

It was the type of song that filled your heart and soul with regret and forced you to examine all that you held dear.

Like a spider’s web catching a fly, my song took hold of the ghosts before me and seized them firmly in its grip, preventing them from moving even one step forward. The great army slowed and then staggered to a stop.

Surprised, the Angeu pulled sharply on the reins, bringing his cart to a halt as well. He gestured at the spirits around him, ordering them forward, but none of them moved.

As long as I played, there they would remain.

So far, so good.

In just the first few seconds of the encounter, we’d brought the Angeu to a halt and seized control of his phantom army. Now all we had to do was get Denise close enough to use the soul knives.

That’s where Dmitri came in.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him step out of hiding, Denise at his side. His berserker nature was fully in control, and in my ghostsight he appeared as an eleven hundred–pound monster covered in white fur and sporting a nasty-looking set of teeth and claws. Even as I watched, Denise seized hold of his fur and swung herself up onto his back, gripping the sides of his muscular body with her legs to keep her steady. No sooner was she settled than Dmitri lumbered into motion, headed straight for the Angeu and his cart.

Knowing I needed to keep the Angeu distracted to give the others time to reach him, I moved closer to the circle, flaunting the tune I was playing, making certain that he saw that I was the source of his troubles.

He reacted predictably, cracking his whip against his horses’ flanks, urging them forward, trying to get them to cross the flames and run me down. The horses rushed forward but reared up at the last second, refusing to cross the barrier.

The circle held.

When that didn’t work he turned his attention instead to disrupting the ritual that kept the circle active, staring at the men and women assembled behind me, trying to catch them in his paralyzing stare.

Our people had been forewarned, however, and all but one resisted the temptation to raise their eyes from the ground before them.

Just a few more minutes were all we needed.

Unfortunately, we weren’t going to get them.

From behind us came a voice blaring over a megaphone. “This is the FBI! Remain where you are and do not move. We have you surrounded!”

It was the last thing on earth I expected to hear.

I spun around to find uniformed officers emerging from the darkness behind us, pointing guns at Gallagher and his people. Leading them was none other than Special Agent Dale Robertson.

He walked toward me, his gun out and pointed at my face.

“Got you this time, Hunt,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Didn’t he see what was going on? How could he think we were a bigger threat than an army of specters just waiting to tear into any living soul they could get their hands on? Was he that freakin’ stupid?

And then it dawned on me.

He couldn’t see them.

By their very nature, the Angeu and his servants were hidden from Robertson’s view. As a Mundane, he didn’t have the capability of perceiving creatures from the other side, the way the rest of us could. From his perspective, we must have looked like a bunch of lunatics standing around a cemetery in the middle of the night chanting and playing crazy music.

“Hands over your head, Hunt!” he yelled, brandishing his weapon.

But I couldn’t do that.

If I did, I’d be forced to stop playing. And if I stopped playing, the army of hungry specters at my back would surge forward and engulf us all.

I had to hold them long enough to allow Denise to reach the Angeu.

I deliberately turned my back on Robertson and continued playing, betting that he wouldn’t shoot me out of hand in front of all these witnesses.

Gambling was never my strong suit, however.

A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past my ear, close enough that I could feel the heat of its passage.

“Last warning, Hunt. Hands up.”

I could hear it in his voice. He was going to shoot me if I didn’t comply.

I had no choice.

If I wanted to live, I had to stop playing.

Fuck him
, I thought and played on.

I watched as Dmitri reached the outer edge of the ghostly army. He plowed into them with all the force of a battering ram, scattering them out of his way, and driving forward until he reached the flames that made up the edge of the protective circle.

Using his momentum to her advantage, Denise sprang off Dmitri’s back with a huge leap, clearing the flames and landing well inside the circle’s edge. Without hesitation she ran forward, vaulted the side of the Angeu’s cart, and rushed toward his unprotected form, the soul knives gleaming with mystic light in each of her hands.

Just a few more steps and it would be all over.

Behind me, Robertson said, “You leave me no choice, Hunt.”

That’s when things went from bad to worse.

The Angeu grinned and surged to his feet. Opening his mouth impossibly wide, he threw back his head as if he were screaming, except no sound came out of his mouth, at least not in the conventional sense. Instead, the most god-awful inhuman shriek I’ve ever heard exploded inside my mind, reverberating around and around inside my skull like an echo through an empty canyon, driving out all rational thought in the face of its relentless attack.

The sound drove me and everyone else in front of him to our knees, our hands coming up involuntarily to cover our ears in a vain attempt to make it stop, cutting off not just my song but also the chant that powered the mystic circle.

I forced my eyes to remain open and I watched helplessly as Denise leapt for the Angeu’s back, her knives out and ready for the killing blow, only to have the Angeu spin around and seize her in midair. He held her at arm’s length, the bony fingers of one hand wrapped about her throat, her feet kicking helplessly several feet off the ground as he leered at her with his skeletal visage.

It might have ended there if it hadn’t been for Dmitri.

He charged forward, roaring out a challenge as he slammed his massive bulk against the side of the cart, rocking it up on one side, toppling Denise and the Angeu over the other side.

They fell together, Denise on top, and, as I watched, her slim hand rose above them, the blade of a soul knife gleaming in the light from the rift at their backs, and then plunged back down.

A howling cry split the night, a scream of such misery and anguish that it seemed as if all of the world’s pain was wrapped up in one blistering sound.

I saw the other knife rise above it all, saw it start to make its downward descent … and then lost it from view as the horde of angry specters rushed forward.

Knowing I didn’t have time to get out of the way of the oncoming horde, I curled up into a ball and brought my harmonica to my lips.

I didn’t have time to re-create the song I’d used earlier to keep the angry mob of ghosts pinned in place, had barely enough time to play anything at all, really, so I used what I had simply to get them to overlook me as they surged forward. Like a stream that parts around a rock, the army of ghosts rushed toward me, flowing around my huddled form, without noticing that I was there.

I could hear Robertson screaming behind me and chanced a glance in that direction. A pack of specters had surrounded him. Some were ripping and tearing at him with their claws while others had sunk their teeth into his unprotected flesh. Blood flowed, hot and bright in the night air. Robertson, of course, couldn’t see what was attacking him, only the results of their efforts, and the look of horror on his face was something to behold as he fought vainly to throw them off. Beyond him, his men were also under attack, their shouts and cries adding to his own terrified screams.

As I turned away, an unearthly cry rent the air. In its wake came a shock wave that shook the earth beneath us, jolting the harmonica loose from my grasp and knocking me off my feet.

Silence fell.

Cautiously, I raised my head and looked around.

I could see Agent Robertson kneeling on the ground a few feet away, blood streaming from half a dozen wounds. He was gibbering to himself like a madman and rocking back and forth. He’d lived through the specters’ assault but would probably never be the same.

In a strange way, I almost felt sorry for him.

Behind him I could see Gallagher and several of his men already up and on their feet, dealing with the federal agents who had survived the attack. Gallagher’s job was made easier by the fact that there weren’t many of them.

Turning in the other direction, I realized that the light was gone; the Curtain, and the ghosts that had come through it, had vanished as if they had never been.

Over by the ruins of the Angeu’s cart, I could see Dmitri, back in human form, pulling himself up off the ground. Blood ran down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice it, his attention on something else lying a few feet away.

I followed his gaze to where Denise lay in the middle of a scorched patch of ground.

Of the Angeu, there was no sign.

I scrambled to my feet.

“Denise!”

I stumbled to her side, followed only seconds later by Dmitri. Falling to the ground next to her, I pulled her across my lap and into my arms. Her body was limp, but appeared to be undamaged, and I was relieved to see that I couldn’t find any blood.

For a moment, I thought she had a chance.

“Denise! Talk to me, Denise!”

I gently turned her face upward so she could see into mine and my heart fell.

Her eyes were open and staring at nothing.

I’d seen that same look on too many faces since coming to New Orleans not to recognize it.

Her body might be alive, but there was no longer anyone home.

The Angeu had been forced to return to Caer Wydyr, but in the process he had taken Denise’s soul along with him!

50

HUNT

We sped through the streets of the city as if the devil himself were on our heels, but I knew all too well that we no longer had anything to fear from him; the devil had already taken his due. Twice during the ride Denise’s body stopped breathing and we were forced to use CPR to bring her around again, Gallagher and I huddled over her in the cramped backseat of the Expedition, alternating chest compressions and forced inhalations as we fought to get her heart started.

Dmitri roared into the emergency entrance, nearly taking out an ambulance that was headed in the other direction, and skidded to a stop in front of the doors. While we were lifting Denise’s limp form out of the back of the car, Dmitri was already inside, scaring up a doctor and a team of orderlies to help us get her into the ER.

From there it was simply a question of getting out of the way and letting the professionals do their jobs. I let Gallagher handle the intake paperwork, as I couldn’t see a damn thing with all the lights and wouldn’t have known what to put on the forms anyway. Rather than stand there and call attention to myself, I had Dmitri lead me to the waiting room where I grabbed a chair and settled in for whatever came next.

Gallagher joined us about thirty minutes later, and in that time he looked like he’d aged ten years. His face was drawn, his eyes were red from crying, and I could see his hand shaking when he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. I knew exactly how he felt.

She’s gonna make it
, I repeated to myself silently.
She’s gonna make it.

But I wasn’t so sure.

A nurse appeared, clipboard in hand. She surveyed the emergency room for a moment and then headed in our direction. The three of us rose to meet her.

“Mr. Gallagher?” she asked.

“Me,” Simon said, then, more strongly this time, “I’m Gallagher.”

She dismissed me and Dmitri without another word and focused on Gallagher, speaking in clipped, short sentences. “The intubation procedure went well. Your sister’s breathing with the help of the respirator now.”

Sister?
I thought, then let it go. I didn’t care what lie he told them as long as it allowed us access to Denise.

The nurse was still speaking. “She’s stable and she’ll stay that way while on life support, I’d wager. In a few hours we’ll move her out of ICU and over to a private room. Any questions?”

Gee, only a couple of thousand. Like how long can the human body survive without a soul? And what in heaven’s name did we have to do to get it back?