Red Right Hand (18 page)

The last time I had seen him, he'd held my face in his hands, squeezing my skull hard enough that I could feel the bones shift, their edges grinding against each other as he pushed my jaw out of its socket, forcing me to look at him while he tore his way inside me.

Donnie Zito.

The man on the floor wiped sick from his mouth, scrawny hand clapped in place. Narrow trails and trickles ran down his ratty chest in beaded dribbles. The pants he wore were frayed, worn through in places, the denim stiff with old paint. His baby face and boyish body had been whittled down and worn away, his sharp nose a raw red, cheeks pitted with scars from sores that had been picked at with addict fingers. The eyes I had last seen clenched tight over mine almost a decade ago were now pulled wide, strung back with wires and staring at something on the floor between us.

Jimmy Deets.

Slowly, I dropped my gaze, pulling it away from one of the people responsible for over ten years of brittle, broken existence to look at the thing on the floor between us.

My eyes locked on it.

I stared at something I didn't recognize.

It lay on the carpet in a patch of vermillion, the edges creeping away, wicking from one fiber to the next, the stain marching steadily across the face of the carpet.

There were shapes and colors. An oblong geometry that branched in two even parts on one end and three uneven parts on the other. It was nearly, but not exactly, the same color as the stain it lay in: lighter, carmine over burgundy, a topographical map done in 3D, the main part dotted and layered with abstract shapes. There were two pale-pink harbors in the center, an ivory mountain range that twisted and curled below them all connected and similar, the whole thing covered in a tracery of blue streams and rivers that originated and culminated in the fist-sized peak lying between the two rose-colored harbors. My eyes traveled the length of it, taking in the artistry, the colors that stood stark and those that blended like brushed chalk powder.

This thing was foreign to me. Alien. Weird.

But familiar.

My gaze landed on the upper right branch, the end of the shape as it stretched out in front of me.

There at the end, I discovered a pair of colors not found anywhere else, an object that was different from the rest.

A knot of burnished gold wrapped around a hard, faceted emerald.

My head buzzed as I stared at that thing, chewing on the image.

I'd seen that thing last on the hand that broke my fingers.

A ring.

A ring handed down from father to son.

The Woods family ring.

The room swam as my mind stopped trying to keep me from seeing what was right in front of me.

I was looking at Tyler Woods.

The one who started it all that night. The one who pulled me into this room so long ago. The one who hurt me first.

The one who hurt me the worst.

Tyler Woods.

He'd been turned inside out.

 

30

“C
HARLIE.”

I turned, my head buzzing with numb horror. Daniel was talking to me. He held Brad Curson in a half nelson, twisting his arm up behind him. Curson's face turned purple, a knot of pain as he arched backward, keeping the pressure off so his arm didn't break.

Something dark and ugly curled inside me.

“Charlie.”

I looked past him to Daniel. Curson was taller, but Daniel had complete control, using the skills and strength he still held from high school.

Curson jerked and pulled. “Let go of me, asshole!”

Daniel leaned back, putting pressure on the taller man's arm.

Break it,
the dark, ugly thing inside me growled.

“Shut up,” Daniel snarled at the man in his grip. Curson quit talking and just stood there, sucking
breath against the pain in his arm. Daniel looked at me. “Charlie, what's going on?”

The metal circle around my neck sat cold and heavy. “I made a wish.”

“You made a…” Realization crept into his eyes. “Does that mean these are the guys who…?”

I nodded.

His face flushed dark. A vein throbbed along his temple.

And with a small, almost casual move of his shoulders, he snapped Brad Curson's arm with wet crack.

That dark, ugly thing inside me thrilled.

Curson screamed, high pitched and thin, leaking the pain out in a howl that threaded through the room. Daniel let go, and Curson crumpled at his feet, arm turned the wrong way. The scream continued, muffled and slightly smothered as Curson rolled into a fetal position around his ruined arm.

Daniel looked down, his hands shaking. He took a swaying step back.

I reached toward him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, still looking down. “I'm okay. I'm all right.” His voice buzzed tightly. He looked up at me. His eyes widened, and he jerked toward me. “Charlie, look out!”

The words were barely out of his mouth when jagged, sharp pain cut from the back of my skull to my eyeballs in a black-red bolt.

 

31

D
ONNIE
Z
ITO STOOD
over me, an ugly look on his ugly face.

He clutched a small, mean revolver in his hand like a captured rattlesnake. A thick droplet of blood—my blood—hung under the snub-nosed barrel from where he'd pistol-whipped me. It swayed like a pendulum, threatening to break and fall as the pistol swung between me and Daniel.

“Somebody better tell me what the
fuck
is going on, and they better start telling me right fucking
now,
” Donnie said.

The only answer he got was Brad Curson's moan of pain.

Donnie shook the gun, slinging the droplet free. My eyes lost it as it tumbled through space. He scowled. “Do I look like someone who is fucking around right now? You, chickie”—he pointed the gun at me—“answer the fucking question.”

I looked at him. The dark, ugly thing curled inside me again, and I realized something with the cold, hard clarity of universal truth. Something so fundamental that it shifted reality around me and, I knew, would alter my every interaction great and small for the rest of my life.

I realized that Donnie Zito could kill me, but he would never be able to hurt me again.

The thought made magick hum from the center of my chest and run tingling down to the Mark incised in my palm.

I got to my feet.

“I made a wish, Donnie. I made a wish and turned your friend Tyler inside out.”

He stepped back. “My friend Tyler?” Beefy eyebrows pulled together. His eyes darted inside their pockets of flesh, moving around the room. They came back to me narrowed and lit with suspicion. “Wait a fuggin minute. Is this Tyler Woods's room?”

I nodded. A sinister grin pulled at the corners of my lips. I felt a little buzzy, a little disconnected. I felt invulnerable.

“I ain't seen Tyler since…” He looked me up and down. Sweat rolled from his hairline, zigzagging down his jowls. “Wait a minute…” His eyes narrowed. “Does that mean you're…”

I nodded.

He thrust the gun at me again. “You need to explain how the hell I got here. I was at a club in LA. How the
fuck
did I get in Tyler's bedroom?” Fear stink wafted off him. I could smell it, metallic and sour, mixed with the salt of his sweat. It made my head swim. I breathed it in deeply, and magick flared inside me, brushing against the inside of my rib cage, sweeping upward and clearing my head.

“I told you, Donnie. I made a wish.” I raised my hand, my right hand, and held it out to him. It pulsed, the symbol cut there glowing with malevolent red energy. I took a step toward him and smiled. “I'm magick.”

“You're a crazy bitch, is what you are.”

“I am what you made me, Donnie.”

The dark, ugly thing spoke in my mind. My hand fell to the Knife of Abraham, still tucked through my belt. Slowly pulling it out, I took a step toward him. The iron blade was dark, but the point still gleamed wicked sharp. I smiled. “I am the angel of vengeance come to collect what's owed.”

I felt Daniel move behind me. I didn't turn, my eyes pinned on Donnie Zito.

Daniel's voice spoke. “Charlie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

I ignored him and took another step. Donnie Zito moved back.

“Careful, Donnie.” I pointed the knife at him. The magick inside me spilled out of my Mark, trickling and sparking off the iron blade. “You're going to step in Tyler if you don't watch out.” I giggled, and it cut through the room, sending chills up my own spine. Donnie flinched.

He jerked and looked down, his booted foot squelching in the soaked carpet. He shouted and danced to get out of it. I turned, keeping him in my sight. The gun in his hand swung toward me, his face dark with anger and fear.

“Bitch, I'm gonna gut-shoot you if you don't get me out of here.”

“You can't hurt me, Donnie.”

His lip curled into a snarl, pulling up as though he'd been fish-hooked. “I hurt you before. I hurt you real good.” His voice dropped into a mean, intimate tone. “I still think about it when I whack off.”

Rage crept slowly up my spine, inching along, crawling its way into my brain.

His smile was an ugly, twisted thing. “Oh yeah. I still think about our time together. I always wanted us to have another date.”

“It wasn't a date, you bastard.” The words hurt leaving my mouth.

“Call it what you want, cupcake. I don't care. It was good times.”

I said nothing. The fuse burned.

Daniel moved. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Donnie Zito swung the gun around toward him. “Ah, ah, ah … settle down, boy.” Daniel stopped moving, stood glaring. Donnie kept the gun pointed at Daniel but looked at me. “Yes indeed, you were a good piece of ass. Tell you what—you drop that knife or I'm gonna shoot this asshole in the face.”

Magick sparked like electricity along the metal around my neck, crackling under my chin. It felt as if someone shoved me forward as Ashtoreth's gift kicked in. My mind jolted, and I was inside Donnie Zito's mind, seeing what he desired most of all.

My brain swirled around a dark image of me pinned to the bed, a gun held to my head by a naked, grunting Donnie Zito while Daniel lay bleeding on the floor.

Everything swirled again, and I blinked, back in my own body. I looked up. Donnie Zito smiled at me. He raised the pistol in his hand and pointed it at Daniel. I felt his desire spike as his finger squeezed the trigger.

I lunged, slashing with the Aqedah. The blade flashed in my hand, crimson magick trailing in a shower of sparks. It struck deep, slicing through the meat and bone of Donnie Zito's arm as if it were made of cheese. The gun bucked as it fired, jerking his arm, the blade embedded in it, my hand clenched tight on the handle. Hot blood sprayed in a fine mist across my face, and someone screamed.

 

32

D
ONNIE
Z
ITO STAGGERED,
fat fingers clamped around his bleeding arm in a sorry tourniquet. He crumpled to the floor, landing on the pistol that had fallen from his useless hand. The wound still pumped blood, welling around the exposed bone. It didn't even look real.

Dread pinned me there, watching him lie on the floor. I didn't want to turn. Didn't want to see Daniel laying dead from a gunshot wound. I couldn't take seeing that. Looking at a fat rapist bleeding out on the floor was bad enough. Seeing Daniel dead would destroy me.

I slid the knife back through my belt.

I didn't know what else to do with it.

My ears were shut, the world muffled in the aftermath of the gunshot. I could still hear screaming, but it was far, far away. I wanted to be far, far away. The torc around my neck tingled, and I opened my mouth to wish when something clamped on my arm.

I turned and found Daniel standing there holding my arm.

What?

He said something. I saw his mouth move. He stared at me and said it again, slower, his lips moving wide as he enunciated. Concentrating, I made out:
Car zoo smoky
.

What the hell?

I shook my head. He said it again, leaning in, putting his mouth close to my ear. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay?

It took a long second for me to make sense of the question. I
was
okay, and I wasn't anywhere close to being okay.

Wait.

Daniel wasn't dead. Wasn't shot.

My eyes slid around him. Curson lay on the floor in a slowly widening stain of dark blood. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

Donnie's bullet had found a home.

“Charlie?”

“I'm all right,” I said.

I'm not, but what else can I say?

Relief washed over his face.

“Who's screaming?”

His mouth pulled into a hard line. Lifting his hand, he pointed. I turned. It took me a second to see him pulled in on himself, a spider dropped down a line of silk into an open flame. Bony knees hugged high to his chest, his hand scrabbling at his mouth, trying to stuff his screams back inside.

I'd forgotten about Jimmy Deets.

His eyes jumped, flinging themselves around the room from the inside-out man on the floor in front of him, to Donnie Zito's bleeding bulk, to Brad Curson's cooling corpse. They flicked up and locked with mine. The longer we stared at each other, the wider his eyes got, until I thought the skin would actually peel away, letting them roll out to bounce across the floor like those crazy balls that come from fifty-cent novelty machines.

I shoved the thought out of my mind before it could take hold of the magick that still hummed and vibrated in my veins.

Daniel touched my arm. “We should maybe get out of here.”

It was hard to pull my eyes away from Jimmy's—it felt like they were actually tethered to his—but I did it.

I sighed, and it took me by surprise, pulling deep from the bottoms of my lungs and rushing clean out my nose. “You're right. I'll wish us away.”