Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four (15 page)
Read Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four Online
Authors: Sharon Joss
The demon gave Liddy a sly look. “I shall fulfill my vow as soon as you are ready.”
Smiling, Liddy took a deep breath, as if to brace herself for what was to come. “You may proceed.”
In less than an eye-blink, the demon snatched her up and bit off her head.
From somewhere behind me, I heard the collective gasp from the cultists. A wolf whined nearby.
The Nalusa Falaya threw his head back and tossed the rest of her body down his throat, like a snake swallowing prey. It licked the blood from its lips and with surprising care, assisted an ashen-faced John Fewkes into a sitting position. Fewkes appeared not at all cowed by the presence of the demon.
In spite of my pain, a little thrill of satisfaction raced through me—I’d hurt him badly. Fewkes was mortal—by destroying Zeypax, I’d torn that hole in his soul—maybe even big enough to kill him.
The creature addressed John Fewkes. “Three things were required of you in exchange for my gift: an equal number of souls as was used to imprison me, an immortal to take my place inside the tree, and the sacrifice of your dearest love. The number of spirits offered was correct. When I escaped the tree, I did not detect the presence of your demon Zeypax, but the djenie warrior was an acceptable replacement. The blood of your sister as sacrifice revived me and I am whole again as I was before.” The Nalusa Falaya bowed deeply. “I am in your debt, sorcerer. Are you ready for your gift?”
On the crest of the hill above us, flashlights beams cast eerie shadows through the trees. If that was the Sheriff and his men, they were too late. The wolves surrounding the cultists began to pace nervously. I tried to call out, but it was no use. I couldn’t even wave my arms.
Fewkes sat up straighter. “Just to be clear. I will be immortal, with access to all the same knowledge and magic you yourself possess. I shall neither die, nor age, nor suffer any infirmities.”
The demon nodded its head in acquiescence. “As you say, so it shall be.”
There was a shout from the top of the hill. Too dark to see who, but from the number of flashlights, I guessed six or seven men at least. It didn’t matter. It was too late.
“Fulfill your end of our bargain,” Fewkes said.
The Nalusa Falaya dissolved itself into a transparent black smoke. It whirled itself into a long whiplike shape, and dove straight into John Fewkes chest.
Holy shit.
It took several long moments before the Nalusa Falaya disappeared completely into the sorcerer’s body. The high priest coughed and spat, then coughed again. He scrambled to his feet, shook himself like a wet dog, and leapt up onto the center altar with surprising ease.
Several of the cultists shouted out to him, alerting him of the approach of law enforcement. Fewkes ignored them, spread his arms wide, and turned in a slow circle, stopping only when he saw me.
From less than twenty feet away, I got a good look at the changes in his appearance. Same face, but leaner. Harder. The pot belly was gone. His eyes reflected red in the torchlight.
Good God, what have I done?
The sudden realization of my grievous mistake slammed home like a bolt of lightning. Banishing Zeypax hadn’t stopped the summoning; it had opened the door for the demon. Tearing that hole in the sorcerer’s soul had provided the anchor the Nalusa Falaya needed in order to grant John Fewkes the powers and immortality he craved. Like Annie had moved into Charlie’s broken soul, so too, the Nalusa Falaya had moved into the soul of John Fewkes.
Someone fired a warning shot and the wolves streaked away into the forest. A voice, magnified through a bullhorn, said “Drop your weapons and freeze! Armed Federal officers with warrants.”
The men had reached the edge of the summoning circle. I recognized Ted Roper immediately. His expression went from one of wary alertness to shock as he took in the scene. Dimly, I wondered how many bodies they’d find.
“Thank you, Miss Blackman,” John Fewkes said. “I admit I had my doubts that this would work at all. Without the Hand of Fate, I fear that freeing the Nalusa Falaya would not have been possible. I must be going now, but rest assured, you’ll be hearing from me soon.” He laughed, loud and long. Then, with a dramatic swish of his hand, he transformed into a raven the size of a Labrador retriever.
The officers froze, guns drawn, their faces agape.
The raven-Fewkes thing cackled and flapped his wings, then launched himself from the altar into the night.
Several of the officers fired shots, but the agent in charge ordered them to hold their fire.
In the sudden silence, everyone turned to look at me.
CHAPTER 21
I WOKE UP in the hospital cuffed to the bed by my ankle. Even without the cuff, I could hardly move. One arm was taped to a protective brace surrounding my rib cage. The doctor said I’d sustained a concussion, broken ribs, bruised lungs, a broken collarbone, and three spinal fractures. Not that it mattered. He also said that the feds wanted to talk to me.
That afternoon, I was interviewed by Agent Nelson Hardesty, the head of the FBI field unit office in Rochester, and Hughie Green, one of the Bureau’s top supernatural investigators, from Quantico. Sheriff Reynolds was there, but he didn’t look too happy about it. This wasn’t his show. Green conducted the interview.
Green was a big guy, probably pushing six-foot six and maybe two-thirty, while Hardesty was one of those pasty-faced administrator-types with a military haircut, steel-rimmed glasses and a permanently pissy expression.
“Is Arby okay?” I asked. I was on oxygen, but it was hard to get a breath.
“Mrs. Briscoe is expected to recover. Her son is still in a coma, his prognosis is unknown.”
“They’re alive?” I blinked back tears of relief. I looked at Reynolds. “What about Lou?”
Reynolds shook his head. So Lou was dead, then. My friend, my fault. I should have done more, been more, seen more. I should have been smarter.
Green and Hardesty exchanged a look. “We still don’t have a clear picture of exactly what happened.” Green’s voice held a pleasant rumble. Sure, he was playing ‘good cop’, but I liked him. And unlike agent Roper, or his predecessor, Frank Porter, I sensed that Green had more than good looks and athleticism going for him. His lifeline gave off the same kind of intense glow as the crescent scar on my hand and the coin Lou had given me.
“Am I under arrest?”
Hardesty said “Maybe” at the same time Green said “Not at the moment.”
No point in asking for a lawyer. No point in lying to them. The agents had been there. They’d seen what happened for themselves—at least the last part of it. And of course they’d been right there when John Fewkes had thanked me for helping him free the Nalusa Falaya. They just didn’t believe what they’d seen.
At least the werewolves were safe—I’d seen the pack take off as soon as the officers cleared the trees. So that meant the only witnesses they had were Honey, the surviving cultists, and Rhys--
oh god, Rhys, I’m so sorry.
A wave of nausea washed though me. Rhys was gone. The way he’d looked for me in that final moment, and how I’d felt when his eyes reached mine. I’d seen his soul in that final glimpse of him. His hopes and dreams turned to ash, all because of me. I blinked back sudden tears. He’d told me once that the only thing a djenie feared, the worst fate imaginable, was being imprisoned. The human idea of the genie in a lamp was every djenie’s worst nightmare. He’d trusted me with his death, he said, and instead I’d delivered him to a fate far worse than death. He’d offered me his heart and I’d pushed him away. I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. My fault.
Lou was gone. Honey and Arby’s lives had just been destroyed by what they’d endured. And it wasn’t over. Fewkes was immortal now, and he had the Nalusa Falaya with him. People would start dying soon.
I sighed. Life as I knew it was over. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
And so I told them.
About the stakeout with Lou and discovering the graveyard and the coven and the layering ritual we’d seen. About getting spotted and Lou’s warning about the Penfield witch cult.
About Lou’s getting run down by the limo and going to the Sheriff and the FBI with my suspicions about the Penfield witch cult and getting the brush off. And as I told them that part, I got mad again.
I got even madder when I told them about Lou and Honey’s warnings about the Fewkes being sorcerers and deciding on my own to check out the Fewkes’s store and realizing that I’d made a huge mistake by going inside because John Fewkes scared the living crap out of me.
And I got madder still, when it dawned on me that I nothing I said could undo what John Fewkes had done. Nate was dead. So was Honey’s grandmother. And Lou—how many others had died at the hands of that sorcerer and his cult? How many souls had he trapped and held to feed the Nalusa Falaya? There were now two immortal monsters running loose the world, and that thought totally pissed me off. In my head, the sound of drums throbbed a backbeat to the angry thrum of my pulse.
So I told them the simple truth—the only thing that would make the FBI sit up and take notice.
I told them that John Fewkes was a demon master. To the biggest baddest, most evil immortal creature imaginable.
The FBI had no idea what they were dealing with. Oh they’d make all the right noises, and beg the government for more funds, but I had no doubt that it would take the FBI a very long time to realize that you can’t kill an immortal.
I didn’t mention the werewolves, the Penfield Eight, or the trapped spirits. No need to drag Charlie or Honey or Kevin or the werewolves or anyone else any deeper into this mess.
And I never said a word about Rhys.
He and Lou were both gone. My mistake, and one that I would spend the rest of my life trying to correct. And something the demon said to Fewkes had given me an idea. If the Nalusa Falaya had been captured once, it could be captured again. I had no idea how to do it, but nothing—neither the living nor the dead—would stop me.
Three hours later, after the agents were satisfied I’d told them everything they wanted to know, Hardesty unlocked the cuff from my ankle, saying it had just been a precaution, and thanked me for my cooperation. Hughie Green gave me his card and said to call him if I remembered anything else.
Sheriff Reynolds winked at me. I’d just lied through my teeth to the FBI and he knew it.
Yeah. Reynolds likes me.
Here in Shore Haven, we take care of our own. John Fewkes would regret the day he ever set foot in Shore Haven. This was war.
END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Sharon Joss writes science fiction, fantasy and horror. She is the author of seven novels, including
Aurum
,
Brothers of the Fang
, and the alternate history thriller,
Steam Dogs
. In 2015, she won the Writers of the Future Golden Pen award for speculative fiction with her novella,
Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light.
She lives in Oregon and writes full-time. Find out more about her and her books by going to www.sharonjoss.com
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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