Summoning the Night (37 page)

Chora swore indecipherably from the rooftop, giving Jupe an earful of Æthyric curses intended for Merrin.

“—we made better plans. I kept Chora bound in the gap between the planes until we were ready. And now we are. Because this time, I've gone to great lengths to ensure our success. And wouldn't you know, the biggest mistake thirty years ago wasn't merely the substitute vessel. The stronger the vessels, the longer the doors stay open, you see, but they never opened at all—not even a crack. The vessels just turned to dust. Over the years, I realized the real problem. Timing.”

“Timing? You mean the overlapping alignments?”

“Conjunctions, alignments . . . here and in the Æthyr. It only granted a short window of time, and I was a few hours too late. I've never been very good at calculations.” He nodded to the roof. “Luckily, Ms. Forsythe is mad about astronomy. She's far too knowledgeable for a junior high teacher, she just never had the drive to do anything more. But when I gave her the problem to solve, she was more than happy to help, even without magical coercion or understanding why I needed it—imagine that!”

What did he want? Applause?

“It was a long wait,” he said, “but once the doors are open, I will be able to cross into the Æthyr.”

“And what will you do there?” I asked. “What's worth waiting thirty years for?”

“I've learned the secrets of possession, my dear. I will ride Chora like he's ridden me. Do you know how old he is? Nearly a thousand years. And he's barely hitting the middle of his life span. I can either die here in this miserable excuse for a body—bald, short, and half crippled—or I can live for decades inside the body of a demonic knight.”

“I thought you said he nearly killed you when the ritual went wrong the first time? What makes you think that you won't do the same when you're inside him? Bodies weren't designed for two separate occupants, Frater.”

“I'm willing to take that chance. And if he can't hold me, I will find someone else in the Æthyr who can. You can sit around demurely and wait for your reward in heaven, if there is one, but I'm seizing mine while I'm able.”

Merrin ripped open his shirt, baring his withering chest and paunchy gut that ballooned below the blue ink of the tattoo I'd spied when we cornered him in the restroom. It wasn't
the only one. A smaller tattoo was etched on the sagging skin over his heart; God only knew what other tricks he'd learned, and this smaller seal was already dimly glowing with charged Heka. Not a good idea to have two tattoos charged at once. I knew this from experience. Merrin didn't seem to be worried, though. He retrieved the metal disk from his pocket and sliced it across a palm. Blood welled. He pressed the Heka-rich fluid over the tattooed sigil on his chest. It lit up with a bright blue charge, then sank back into an ink tattoo.

“No need to be frightened of me,” he said to Lon. “How I pity you, being forced to hear all this emotional garbage, day in and day out. A useless knack, much like your father's.”

Lon was a patient man, but lately I'd seen him reach his snapping point more times than I could count. He barreled toward Merrin before I could stop him, charging the elderly magician like a bull. But it was pointless. Merrin wasn't lying—he had no interest in Lon's knack. He wanted Chora's ability, and with his tattooed sigil now freshly charged, he absorbed it.

The magician leapt out of the path of Lon's charge and floated into the darkness just above us. Lon jumped and swatted at the magician's feet, but they were already out of reach. His shirttails fluttered behind him as he rose to the roof and landed near Jupe and Ms. Forsythe. He stumbled, not quite competent with the whole flying thing, then righted himself.

“Now,
this
is a knack!” Merrin shouted breathlessly. “And your son's new ability isn't half bad, either. Thank you for telling Gracie about it, or I never would have guessed,” Merrin yelled down to Lon, yanking Jupe away from the demon.

Jupe, God bless him, wasn't going gently. He kicked the living daylights out of Merrin and the volume of his muffled shouts increased, but then the magician hissed something to
him that I couldn't hear. After that Jupe went quiet. Merrin kept one hand clamped over Jupe's mouth, just as Chora had done.

Come on, Chora. Take one step back,
I thought, watching the three of them on the roof. I calmed myself and searched inside for the Moonchild power, willing it to the surface.

“What's this?” Merrin peered at the fading golden glow emanating from Jupe's tattoo. The trailing thread was becoming difficult to see in the darkness, but the mark itself still pulsed with Heka. “Have you warded the boy?” he yelled down at me. “You'll tell me the truth.”

“No,” I answered, before I could even consider an answer. I covered my mouth in alarm. Jupe's damned knack! But I'd only told the truth—I hadn't warded him. Jupe had put that mark on himself.

“It doesn't matter. The duke can break it later.” He turned to the demon. “Chora, right now you will kill both of them below. Quickly, if you would, please.”

The demon didn't hesitate. Still wearing Ms. Forsythe's skin, he glided to ground, heading straight for us. I yelped and turned to Lon, but he wasn't there. Gone! Any crumb of calm I'd accumulated in readying myself to wield the Moonchild power dissipated as panic seized my chest. I whipped my head around, searching the shadows for him, and the demon landed several yards in front of me. Ms. Forsythe's crushed arm hung limply beneath her poncho, and her hair was matted with blood. But the demon didn't seem to care about her injuries. When her leg quivered as if it might buckle, he just groaned and hobbled toward me.

“Lon!” I called out.

Angry grumbling filtered from beyond the fence, over which Lon had climbed and was now leaning across the top,
tugging at a nearby tree branch in the neighbor's yard. One strong wrench and something loosened. “Aghh!” he cried out in victory before he leapt to the ground, shotgun in hand. Lon shouldered the butt of it and aimed it at Ms. Forsythe's stalking figure.

“Gracie, if you can hear me, try to fight him,” Lon said between labored breaths. “I'd hate like hell to kill you.”

If the teacher
could
hear him, she sure didn't show it. The person striding toward us had a purpose. Lon aimed low and squeezed the trigger.
Boom!
If no one had called the police about the shots at the scene of Merrin's wreck, they would surely be dialing now. Ms. Forsythe's body tilted, then faltered. The shot had landed just above a kneecap.

Although a good chunk of her lower thigh was gone and dark blood splattered across her pant legs, she attempted to take another step and stumbled. Lon pumped the shotgun and fired at the opposite leg. Her knee exploded. That did it. The teacher's entire lower body fell out from beneath her and she went down like a rock, her face slamming into the grass.

Movement on the roof tore my attention away. Merrin was tightening his hold on Jupe as he stepped to the edge of the roof. “Too much noise,” Merrin said, looking over the roof to the street below. “Chora, finish up quickly and join me. That's a command.”

The magician jumped off the roof and descended several feet. While floating in place, he shifted his grip long enough to slice through the striped tenting with his metal disk. A flap fell open, exposing a second-story window. He murmured something to Jupe, who struggled to push the window open. They were going inside.

I took one look at the teacher's body on the ground and figured she wasn't going anywhere, then raced across the yard
and stopped beneath the window. Merrin was stuffing Jupe inside, legs first. The golden thread vibrated. It was taut and glowing brighter. My finger throbbed as if there was an actual piece of string tied to the tip.

Magick is directed energy. It can be formed, shaped, and molded. I took a chance, acting on instinct. With gritted teeth, I made a fist and pushed Heka into the golden line, then tugged on it. Resistance. Weak, but it could be enough . . . if only my body didn't feel like a gas tank running on fumes. I needed more juice. Had to risk it.

I reached out and siphoned electricity from the house—not much, just enough to kindle what little Heka reserves I had left—and sent it down the thread. Raw, burning Heka.

“Brace yourself!” I called to Jupe as the thread lit like a fuse.

Jupe yelped. Merrin shouted in fear as gravity suddenly weighed him down and he plunged, dropping Jupe.

I tugged on the golden thread as hard as I could. Jupe's body jerked and sailed toward me like an angel—long arms and legs and a mass of volcanic hair whizzing through the darkness. I held out my arms and braced myself for collision: his elbow knocked my jaw sideways and he crashed into my ribs as he body-slammed me to the ground.

Everything hurt except my heart, which was thundering with surprise and relief.

Jupe let out a dopey groan. His eyes opened. He blinked rapidly. “Cady,” he murmured with a scratchy voice.

“Got you.” I scrambled to shove him off and hauled us both to our feet. The kid might've saved his own damn life with that stupid tattoo.

Merrin howled in pain a few feet away, writhing in the grass. I couldn't tell how badly he'd been injured from the fall, but if he recovered his wits and hijacked Jupe's knack again, we'd all be in trouble—how far was far
enough
away to ensure we were outside the knack-stealing sigil's range? I didn't have a clue.

Jupe cried out in surprise at something he saw over my shoulder. I spun. Across the yard, Ms. Forsythe's limp body remained sprawled on the ground. Unmoving. But that wasn't the cause of Jupe's anxiety. Chora now floated above her, dressed in his military coat, tail whipping.

And that wasn't all.

Lon stood in the same place I'd left him, but his green-and-gold halo danced like a crown of gilded flames over his head and spotlighted the two spirling horns that jutted from his hairline.

He looked devastatingly menacing and shockingly demonic—

And Jupe had never seen him transmutated.

“Dad?” he croaked.

“It's okay,” I assured Jupe, squeezing the back of his neck. “He's still your dad, it's—I can't explain now. I need to help him. Stay behind me.”

I raced my heartbeat across the shadowed lawn with Jupe dogging my heels. When we got closer, Lon, without taking his eyes or the aim of his gun off Chora, yelled, “Stay back!”

We came to a sliding stop.

Chora was staring at Lon, sizing him up. “The mage told me of this magick, this transmutation. He chose vessels for the ritual who were born with this magick inside them. He believes this will help them live long enough for the doors to open between the planes. Their blood is sweeter.”

“Why doesn't he just summon seven demons from the Æthyr?” Lon asked.

“They must originate on this plane for the doors to open from this side.”

Chora looked weary. I guess if I'd spent thirty years trapped in some crazy gap between the planes, I'd be weary, too.

“The ritual matters little to me,” he said. “I only wish to fulfill my contract with the piggish mage and return home.”

Chora held one palm up, as if he were asking for a handout, and used a finger to trace an invisible mark over his open palm as he mumbled something foreign. The air crackled. A pink glow lit his hand from the inside out. Then his skin turned translucent and I could see veins and bones beneath it. Jupe made a wary noise behind me. I could feel his labored breath against the top of my head. I tugged him closer.

Chora floated down and landed on the grass. “If we were back in my homelands, I would not chose to battle you, Kerub,” Chora said, referring to the class of demon from which Earthbounds are descended. “Nor you, Mother.” He looked at me with the same familiarity that I had glimpsed in the Silent Temple. “But I do not have that choice. I am sorry.”

The demon's scaly tail flicked as he held out the hand glowing pink with magick. He pushed back the cuff of his colonial coat, exposing his wrist, then sank two fingers into the flesh there. Slick, sucking noises made me grimace as he dug around inside his own skin. He extracted something skinny and straight. Once he was able to get several fingers around it, he tugged with more force.

A thin, whispery blade the length of a small sword glinted in the moonlight. He unsheathed it from the scabbard of his forearm. The grip of the weapon was ivory, and might've been constructed from bone, but the dripping blood made it hard to be certain. The blade was metal, though. And he wielded the disgusting weapon with determination as a new noise stole my attention.

Merrin was on his feet. Shoulders dropping, head lowered, he bowled toward us, only slightly impeded by his awkward limp. He was disoriented and pained, and his glasses
were gone—lost in the fall. But he squinted into the dark and his eyes caught mine.