Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us (11 page)

The corruption enveloped her completely, and she felt it probing at her legs, trying to spread them, to enter her in the most horrendous rape imaginable. The sword! Her right hand still clutched the sheath pressed between her and Paul’s chests, the hilt nestled close to their cheeks. But she was not the wielder, and Paul’s face had contorted in a rictus of agony.

She reached down with her left hand, found his right elbow, then his forearm, and wrist and hand. She grabbed his wrist, tried to pull it up to the hilt of the sword, but his muscles were locked in the spasm of a powerful seizure. Little by little she bent his elbow, brought his hand higher, closer and closer to the hilt—and then the monster slid between her legs and entered her, and a powerful orgasm washed through her, a foul, disgusting agony of pleasure that sickened her. It wanted her to yield, and it would reward her with infinite pleasure, and she could not resist, and it knew it had her, even as, with her last effort, she pressed the palm of Paul’s hand against the hilt of the sword.

~~~

Paul hurt everywhere with a strange combination of joyful pain and disgusting pleasure. He had an erection so demanding it almost hurt, and his memories were clouded by thoughts of a sword, and thoughts of Katherine, and thinking of her he relaxed, realizing then it was her lying on top of him. He took comfort knowing his hand rested on the hilt of a great sword. But the sword was soft, and yielding, and fleshy, and it had a nipple, an erect nipple.

“Con’lin,” Katherine mumbled muzzily. “Get your hand off my hilt.”

One of the leprechauns said, “This ain’t the time for that, boy-oh.”

In his own defense, Paul said something like, “Guff um sward nabba.”

Katherine struggled groggily to her hands and knees, one hand nearly dislocating his jaw as she leaned on his face like it was a rock on the ground, and only then did he realize his hand was tangled up in her torn blouse, caught between her breast and her bra.

“Oua track mind,” she said, and at point-blank range vomited in his face.

~~~

Aaahhhh!
the voice cried deep in his soul. The pain and agony it radiated startled him so much he fell to his knees in his living room.
Again, I am diminished. It hurts, it hurts so much.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he covered his face with his hands.

I need sustenance. I must feed. It hurts to be so weak.

He sensed the diminished capacity of the voice, and for the first time it felt fragile and brittle, and that made him feel weak. Since the voice had come to him he had known control over anything and anyone he chose, and he now hated feeling weak and helpless. Control, and the sense of power that came with it, had become a blessed addiction.

I must feed.

“Yes,” he said aloud. “But not Alice. She’s not ready yet. The little Mexican boy. We need to get him out of the way anyway.”

~~~

“What, pray tell, was that?” Magreth demanded, her eyes aflame with white-hot sparks of anger. “What just happened on the Mortal Plane?”

Cadilus lowered his eyes. It was never wise to look directly upon such fury. “The necromancer was active . . . in a rather impressive way.”

“Impressive,” she screamed, and the ancient Sidhe spirits fluttered fearfully away into the far corners of the audience chamber. “Impressive is not the word. Try spectacular, or stupendous.”

Cadilus stared at the toes of his shoes. “Yes, Your Majesty. As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Magreth suddenly calmed, and everyone in the Seelie Court sensed it, but it was a hard and cold calm. “Forgive me, dear Cadilus. It is wrong of me to vent my anger on you. Where is Sabreatha in this? Why hasn’t she acted?”

“Sabreatha moves in her own time, at her own pace. But I have no doubt she will move soon.”

~~~

Anogh leapt to the top of a large monument in the graveyard not far from the parked cars of the mortals, then lifted a hind paw and scratched behind his ear. He actually liked wearing the shape of a cat, a lithe and agile animal.

He watched the mortal wizards and witches help the young man and woman to their cars. The Old Wizard’s daughter could barely stand, needed the help of the Druid to walk, and even then could do little more than stagger and stumble. The young man was in even worse shape: barely conscious, held up by his armpits by two of the wizards. He tried to walk, did a poor job of putting one foot in front of the other. His feet left a trail in the dirt as they half carried, half dragged him to the cars.

The cemetery remained calm and still, with no sign of the destruction that had occurred, at least none visible to mundane, mortal eyes. Ag would have sensed this event; anyone with any arcane capability would have sensed it. And Ag would want a report.

Anogh jumped off the monument and headed for the boundary of the graveyard.

Chapter 8: The Cloe Card

“I think it was the translation into the plural that did it,” McGowan said, just as Paul reached the bottom of the stairs. He heard Stowicz and McGowan in the kitchen arguing over what had gone wrong with the spell. He’d only been half conscious of returning to the mansion last night. They’d cleaned him up a bit and then he’d slept like the dead, woke that morning feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life. A hot shower had improved his outlook a bit, though it didn’t wash away the ache of so many strained muscles.

“Ya,” Stowicz said. “This old Latin is tricky. We’ll have to try an alternate wording next time.”

That’s it
, Paul decided. Everything hurt as he walked like an old man into the kitchen. “There isn’t going to be another fucking
next time
,” he shouted. “I’m done with this shit.”

The tableau in the kitchen froze at his entrance: McGowan and Stowicz seated at the table pouring over his notebook; Salisteen and Colleen standing behind them looking over their shoulders; Katherine standing at the window with her back to them all, oddly enough dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes; one of the male-model servants rinsing some dishes in the sink and loading a dishwasher. They all looked at Paul and froze.

Salisteen’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Watch your tongue, young man.”

“Watch my tongue?” he shouted angrily. His voice rose with each word, and he knew he shouldn’t let it, but he was beyond controlling it. “A year and a half ago I was a normal, happily married guy with a wonderful wife and kid. Even a few months ago, while I may have been nuts, at least I was normal nuts. Now I’ve barely escaped a demon in the Netherworld, been kidnapped by a mad fairy queen, nearly been killed by a demon more than once. It’s demons and faeries and leprechauns and dragons, and I’ve got scars to prove it. When do I get to meet Frodo and Gandalf?”

They all just stared at him silently. He could see sympathy, and pity, but no understanding. “No. Wait a minute here,” he shouted. “I haven’t met Frodo yet, but I think I’ve sure as hell met Gandalf.” He nodded at McGowan, and Colleen started giggling. He pointed at Colleen. “And none of that from you, Goldberry. Where’s Tom Bombadil?”

Katherine turned away from the window and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “He’s got a point. Or two, or three. Twice now, in as many days, Paul and I have nearly been possessed by something very horrible. If he weren’t afraid and angry and upset like me, I’d doubt his sanity.”

With Katherine on his side Paul felt a little calmer. He lowered his voice and said to Salisteen, “Sorry about the profanity.”

Salisteen smiled. “Apology accepted. Now, let’s get some breakfast into you. You’ll feel better with a full stomach.”

Salisteen turned to the servant and asked him to scramble some eggs, toast some bread and fry up some ham. Paul sat down at the table and someone shoved a cup of coffee in front of him. He’d definitely feel better with a full stomach, but that wouldn’t make him willing to raise any more dead, though he didn’t voice that thought.

He asked, “What the heck happened last night?”

Stowicz said, “You raised half the dead in that cemetery.”

“How’d I do that?”

McGowan grimaced. “Translating old Latin is a bit problematic. We think we used the plural when we should have used the singular, so it turned into an open ended incantation. With one of us, it wouldn’t have been as spectacular. But with you . . .”

Paul wanted to forget the previous evening. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not doing anything like that again.”

The four older practitioners traded glances, and McGowan said, “I hate to play the Cloe card, Paul, but I have to.”

Colleen sat down opposite him. “From what you and Katherine describe, it appears something is haunting the dead girl’s souls. We think it’s a powerful demon, quite possibly a primus caste. It must gain some power from them, or some strength here in the Mortal Realm, and those young girls can’t pass on unless we free them. And with your help we can end this sooner rather than later.”

Stowicz said, “We can do it without you, but it’ll take a lot longer. And that’s time during which he’ll take the lives and souls of more little girls.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “And every one of their deaths will be because you failed to act.”

Colleen turned on Stowicz angrily. “That’s not fair, Charlie.”

“No,” he said, “it’s not. But it’s true. And it had to be said.”

They had Katherine and Paul relate in detail exactly what they’d experienced in the graveyard. Paul told them what he could, though he didn’t tell them of the disgusting sexual nature that permeated the experience. If a man could understand rape, Paul thought he might now have some small idea of what it truly must be like. When Katherine told her story she was subdued and she also edited out a few embarrassing details, and he suspected there were other bits he didn’t know about, bits she didn’t want to discuss with anyone.

When she finished no one spoke for the longest moment, then Stowicz growled. “You’re holding something back. Both of you. What is it?”

Katherine got up and stormed out of the room. Paul hurt too much to do any storming, so he looked Stowicz in the eyes and lied his ass off. “I’ve told you everything.”

Stowicz glared at him angrily while Colleen got up and followed Katherine.

~~~

Katherine went out through some French doors onto one of the mansion’s patios, stood in the shade and tried to focus her thoughts. It had been rape; she could put no other name to it. And yet there had been pleasure too, even if purely physical and only briefly. And she wondered what kind of deviant person she must be that she found pleasure in rape.

One of the French doors opened and Colleen stepped out onto the patio. She stood there for a moment saying nothing.

“It kind of . . . raped me,” Katherine said. “Not an ordinary rape, and . . .”

Colleen let the silence hang for a moment, then said, “And you felt some pleasure, though it would have been purely physical.”

Katherine couldn’t meet Colleen’s eyes. “You know what happened?”

“Not really, my dear. But powerful demons always try to seduce with pleasure. They don’t truly understand we mortals, don’t understand the emotional connection that comes with love. They can give intense physical pleasure on a whim, but not the emotional attachment that makes it a truly joyful experience. A normal, healthy mortal like you—and Paul—are disgusted by it, whereas a thrall is seduced by it, and only wants more.”

Katherine couldn’t hold it in any longer and unwanted tears streamed down her cheeks. Colleen wrapped her arms around her, and the tears turned to open sobs.

“Don’t tell the others,” Katherine pleaded.

“No, my dear. Of course not. And Salisteen and I’ll make sure those two foolish old men know to let it be.”

~~~

Just as Colleen left the kitchen one of Salisteen’s security
suits
walked in, leaned close to her and whispered something in her ear. Her eyebrows lifted with a look of surprise, and she asked, “You didn’t invite him in, did you?”

He frowned at her and said with a touch of irritation in his voice, “Of course not.”

She ignored his irritation and said, “If he’s willing to give us his complete parole, plainly spoken, then admit him. You know the formula. Bring him to the library, and ask Colleen and Katherine to join us. I believe they’re out back.”

The suit nodded, turned and left the room. Salisteen turned to McGowan and Stowicz. “Cadilus is here.”

Both reacted with a frown. Paul asked, “Who’s Cadilus?”

Salisteen said, “High Chancellor to the Seelie Court. An extremely powerful Sidhe mage and warrior. He’s Magreth’s right-hand man.”

Stowicz growled, “I don’t like this one bit.”

McGowan stood. “None of us do. Let’s go see what he wants.”

The library was a large room with a large fireplace centered in one wall and a lot of books lining the rest. Subdued lighting gave the room an air of quiet and calm. There were several wingback chairs with small end-tables distributed among them, each with a reading lamp on it. Salisteen took a seat in one of the wingback chairs, much like a queen on her throne, while McGowan and Stowicz stood to one side. Paul picked out a chair farther back in the room and sat down. When Colleen and Katherine entered, Colleen chose a chair next to Salisteen, and Katherine walked over to stand by Paul.

Paul recognized Cadilus immediately as
pointy-ears
, the Sidhe who’d abducted him and Katherine off the streets of San Francisco. To Paul Cadilus looked like a British diplomat. He wore an expensive, conservatively cut, dark, pinstripe suit, white shirt, dark tie. He didn’t have a Bowler hat, but he did carry a silver-tipped walking stick. His nose, cheeks and jaw line could only be described as aristocratic, with dark hair that had just the right hint of gray at the temples. A few months ago when Paul had last seen him his ears had been pointed and his eyes slitted vertically like those of a cat. But now both ears and eyes appeared normal, probably due to some glamour he had affected.

When the
suit
escorted him into the library he turned immediately to Colleen and Salisteen. He bowed deeply and said in a refined accent, “Lady Armaugh. Lady Salisteen.”