Z-Risen (Book 2): Outcasts (23 page)

I swear I am going to get in shape.

How many times have you said that and actually done something about it? There was no way you’d find me at the gym, because no one wanted to see a pasty white warlock on a treadmill. Oprah? Yeah. Me? Not so much.

I huffed and puffed as I took off at my idea of a sprint. That was, legs
pistoning as fast as they could. While my arms worked like a broken windmill that was already two sheets to the wind.

I had to be realistic. My fork was too far for me to make it before the demon caught up. I didn’t have a chance in the hells of going toe to toe. To make matters worse, the vial wasn’t cooperating. My guess was that initial panic had caused me to jam the cork all the way inside the tube.

If I had known I was going into a fight tonight, I would have brought a different set of potions and maybe a giant crossbow or three, with a small army to carry it. I should have asked my changer friend Frank Two-Feathers to watch my back, but I thought he was watching the back of a cute little falcon out in Edgewood.

I should have been armed with Draco Dracaena and Ash Laurel.
The latter for psychic protection, the first for physical. Instead I had a few doses of frankincense and periwinkle. This helped me focus and see through the fog that separates us from the cusp. I knew a warlock that used to smoke pot to get the same effect. He crashed his fork while staring at the moon and, if the story was true, howling a Peter, Paul, and Mary song at the top of his lungs.

I cut to the right and sacrificed a breath to get my teeth around the cork and was rewarded with it sliding halfway out.

Feet thumped behind me. I risked a glance over my shoulder to confirm what my sense of self-preservation was already telling me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I swear I felt the demon’s breath playing across them.

I nearly stumbled over a rock, but righted myself and pounded over the grassy ground, hoping to avoid any leftover dog shit. It would be just my luck to hit a pile of St. Bernard crap and go flying. Then it would be just
me and the demon, mano a demon-o a manure-o.

I got my other hand around a wax paper pouch with a small mark burned into it. I was trusting to my system because there wasn’t enough light to see, and even if I relied on my warlock sight there was no way to steady the pouch as I ran.

So I sniffed it and would have smiled except my lungs hurt too much.

The glass vial in one hand, packet in the other, I dumped the two into one palm, clapped my hands, and then tossed the mess into the air with a quick flurry of words. That should confuse the demon, make him want to stop and talk to himself for a few hours before the confusion wore off.

The spell helped bind the ingredients and also spread the ensuing mess to the wind. The flakes rose in the air, spread out and were immediately doused by rain. The clouds had decided to open up and drench now of all times. Sometimes I think someone up there doesn’t like me, or someone down
there
, on the other side of the cusp.

I sped over the ground and cursed myself for not coming more prepared with at least my imbued chest piece. It might not stand up to a couple of slugs from an assault rifle, but for a warlock it was as strong as wearing a shield straight out of a science fiction movie. I should surely have a blade with me. Probably a silver dagger with a couple of glyphs, nasty ones, to slice through armor or demon and find a heart, no matter where it lay in the creature’s body. I once fought a demon that looked like a wildebeest. Damn thing ran me down like a toreador without a red cape. My chest piece saved me, and when it came back and leapt toward me, I slid forward on my butt and sliced it from neck to groin.

It took two days to wash the stench off.

I risked another glance over my shoulder, but the bastard hadn’t gotten lost and was still right on my ass. I was at least a quarter mile from my fork and about a quarter second away from being demon chow. As I leapt over a small puddle, I noticed a pentagram etched into the ground.
It was surrounded by flower leaves and a healthy sprinkling of blood.

Oh hell, this was no accident. Someone had been up to no good and I’d stumbled into it. It made sense. The place a person died (the more violent the better) was the perfect location to call up one of the little guys from the first or second ward. But conjure a big one and you are just as likely to be on the receiving end of whatever you had planned for your victim. The police wouldn’t know how to read the scene. They didn’t have a book on the occult. Maybe the old man had stumbled on a ritual and had been killed by the demon that was currently chasing me.

I looked back and gave a little scream of horror as the beast reached out with that hooked middle arm and caught me across the back. His blade sank into my robe and touched my skin, but I stumbled forward and avoided being skewered.

I pounded to a halt and spun to the side. The demon flew by and I reached out with one arm as it passed to slap its bald little head in a childish gesture. Its ears were tiny and only one had a lobe, but it was upside down. I yanked my hand back and found it covered with demon slime. Gross.

The practical side of me advised rubbing some of it into the vial I'd just emptied into my hand. The other side wanted me to put my hand in boiling water then a nice cold bath of isopropyl alcohol. We warlocks have come up with some dandy potions over the centuries, but nothing cleaned demon phlegm quite like the classics.

The little Danny De Vito looking monster spun on its ridiculous back jointed leg and came at me fresh and full of vigor. I could have tried a kick to its chest. Maybe caught the arm and hooked it over to impale it in the thing’s chest. I might have had a chance at a throat strike that would slow it down.

There was actually a better chance of an errant asteroid surviving entry to earth’s atmosphere and crushing the little demon.

Every damn potion I had was useful for tracking. I even had one set aside that would help make a water and wind proof cover from my robe if I was stuck in a tornado – or a good old fashioned Seattle rainstorm.

That was it!

I ran toward the river as the demon came back in pursuit.

The vial came loose and this time I cupped it in my hands to keep it from being washed away. Then it was a simple matter of coating my hands while whispering the words. I whipped my non-dominant left hand downward across the black fabric. Then my right hand upward and across my breast.

My back burned from the demon’s blade and I got the distinct impression blood was leaking into the fabric. I hoped so. Few things solidified a spell like fresh plasma.

I knew from the whistling sound that it was coming, and I ducked. The blade passed over my head and brushed my hair. One more of those and I was going to be a headless runner for all of two seconds. I spotted the river and uttered the last word of the spell. Throwing my hands in the air helped complete the transition.

My robe billowed and formed a sphere. I curled my body as I leapt off a rock and into the
ice cold water of the rushing outlet known as White River. The protective ball was a stroke of genius and it saved my ass. The robe had nothing imbued to make it less porous. The water, though slow, seeped in and took me right to the bottom.

At least it kept its shape.

I staggered out of the water and pulled my soaking robe over my head and dropped it for later retrieval. I ran my fingers through my long black hair and yanked out more than a few branches. Reaching into an inner pocket, I took out a few packets, hoping they weren’t soaked through.

My wish did not come true.

At least the vials were in good shape. I inspected a few in the poor light. I wasn’t sure about the contents of several of them, so had to go by basic shape for familiarity. If I was wrong, the demon might find true love or run around with an uncontrollable erection for a few days.

I almost wished I had a gun. On second thought, no reason to piss the thing off any more than it already was.

As if I wasn’t already soaked to the bone, the rain had not let up. I cursed. Well, not a curse – curse. More the kind that is supposed to make you feel better. Just like everything else this night, it didn’t work.

I shivered as the chill really settled in. The ground sucked at my feet as I tried to creep across it. Between the suction at my leather boots and my teeth chattering, I must have sounded like a walking water bag trying to juggle dominoes.

I took to the trees and tried to blend in, but my Soundgarden t-shirt, one of the only white tees I actually owned, stood out even in the crappy light. My jeans, mismatched white and blue socks, and lack of a jacket left me feeling exposed, underdressed, and very very cold.

The demon was nowhere to be seen, so I broke into a trot and ran out of breath exactly thirty eight seconds later.

I moved to the east and padded as quietly as I could. Still no demon. Well, maybe it went into the water and forgot how to swim. He’d wake up in the Pacific Ocean and have a hell of a time getting back. By then I would be long gone.

I slid to a tree and perched behind it, hands on my knees and breath puffing in and out. If I made for my fork I would be there in about five minutes. Assuming I was on the right path and could find the landmarks I had committed to memory, the main one being the bathroom.

I moved out again and made for another tree that was partially covered by shrubs. I slid behind them, cast my eyes back and forth, and exited the other side.

There was a smaller tree in my path. I went to duck behind it and almost let out another scream. It was no tree!

The demon spun on me and all eight horrid little eyeballs stared through my skull. I babbled a spell of binding but it smashed through the rite so fast I barely had time to roll out of the way.

I ran for it, hoping against hope I was on the right path.

My shirt sucked at my body so I yanked it off, spun, and flung it at the demon. It probably expected another spell to tear apart, based on the shape of the multiple mouths that seemed to form a smile. It really did look like a psychotic cherry pie.

The shirt smacked into the demon and covered its face. Its third hand rose and hovered in the air
before it caught on a low hanging branch. The demon was whipped backwards as all that forward momentum came to a sudden stop. Sadly, its arm didn’t break off.

I flat out ran for it and slipped into the puddle I had been looking for.

I went flying, body skidding across the ground, which left the most annoying case of grass burn I have ever experienced.

But the pentagram was there, just in front of me. I slipped on soaked hands and knees until I fell face first into the shape. My
head shot around just as the sky decided to piss on my parade by opening up again and cascading ice cold water on my already freezing body.

I cried words, but my mouth was full of grass and dirt so they came out slurred. Even Mother Earth was not impressed with my efforts tonight.

My left hand struggled behind my back to scoop up a little blood while I spat nature all over the pentagram. It wasn’t even a very good one. The person that drew it must have had a terrible shake because the lines weren’t straight. I was no expert on summoning, but whoever did this had no respect for the art.

The rain let up right over my head. The demon had managed to get the drop on me. Not only that but he made the
ugliest damn canopy.

I rolled over as the hook came down again. It struck the earth an inch from the mark and stuck. I ripped my blood-covered fingers down and smashed them into the circle and uttered the words. This time they came out.

So did the mark.

I lifted the pentagram off the ground and held it gently, even though I wanted to jump up and run into tomorrow. The ground smoked where it had been. Flower leafs wilted and then turned to ash. The blood that had started the spell turned black and then went in a puff of smoke that was sucked away by the rain.

“Stop!” I bellowed and the demon did.

When it spoke, the voice made me want to bash my head into the ground.

Have you ever heard someone scream while their mouth was filled with marbles as they simultaneously pulled eight fingernails down a chalkboard? Really? Cause that would be more pleasant than whatever the demon said.

It went to the ground and shuffled around on all threes, once more looking like a giant toad.

The barking came again, and closer this time. I looked around for the source but there was nothing in the immediate vicinity. It had to be after midnight and the evening had been a complete bust. No matter how much I searched the ground, I had been unable to locate the murdered man’s scent. To top it all off, I had a demon in thrall and no idea what to do with it, so I decided to do something extra stupid.

I took one of the larger vials out of my jeans pocket and popped the cork. It smelled like lavender water. Something easy to make that didn’t cost an arm and a salamander leg. Pouring the fluid out was like tossing money on the ground, but it left me with an empty vessel. Next was the delicate art of ushering the pentagram shape, which I did with numb and shaking fingers. It fled into the tiny opening, and when I muttered a binding spell the demon sank into the ground.

The night lit up as a portal winked open, giving me a glimpse of one of the wards. I shook my head because it looked like a giant room layered in obsidian, pock marked with giant puddles of molten lava.

Then something hit me. A blast of warmth suffused my body and I suddenly felt like I could take on a demon.
A couple of them. Hell, maybe an army. It was like icy cold electricity had ripped into my core and then exited through my hands and feet, but it left me feeling like a new person. I had the insane urge to start letting spells loose for no other reason than I could. Fire and ice. Stop the stupid rain. I had them all in my grasp. Christ, I was more delirious than I thought possible.

The portal snapped shut, snatching my very brief glimpse into the underworld, but not before I watched a figure dash out of view.

The form had a human shape and it was covered in pure white, which made no sense at all. What self respecting demon dressed like in white? They dove at something scratched into the ground. A pentagram like shape similar to the one I had just stolen. Serves you the right--sending an unsanctioned demon. If I ever got ballsy enough to return to the league I was going to bitch about it. Maybe fill out a complaint. Call my congressman. Send a letter to the president.

Who was I kidding? I just wanted to go back to bed and pretend like this evening never occurred.

The barking grew closer. Now what in the fresh hells was this? I didn’t have anything left, unless I tried to control the demon in the bottle and that was not going to end well for anyone. I had about as much luck winning Powerball.

A shape pushed itself through the mist that now hung over the ground. From the fog came a small black nose, followed by fur. I wished for the hundredth time that I had a weapon.

The dog was brown and its fur was drenched and pressed to its side. It had tiny black eyes that stared back at me with something like hope. It shook and its little tail wagged pathetically.

Tonight wasn’t a complete bust, because I had found one of Mrs. Whitfield’s Pomeranians. I scooped the dog up, rubbing its head and whispering reassuring words. It shied away at first, but before I knew it the mutt was licking my face. The walk back to my fork wasn’t so bad after all.

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