Blood Wyne (15 page)
I was cut off by another loud crash behind me. We turned in unison, just in time to see a chair sailing through the air toward us. Smoky leaped in front of Trillian, who was about to get hammered by the wooden seat, and met it with upraised arms. He sent it careening to the floor, where it smashed into pieces.
Trillian met his eyes. “Thanks, bro. You saved me from a nasty crack on the head.”
“No problem,” Smoky said. “Camille would have been pissed if I’d let you get hurt.” Even though he tried for a joke, his voice was clearly rattled.
Camille looked at Morio. “We need some sort of protection. I say we weave a moving pentagram to keep the beasties at bay.”
Morio nodded. “I think you’re right. It will mean another five minutes’ delay, but we’re not going to be very effective if we have to stop every minute to ward off an unseen attacker.”
“What about Shade?” I asked, looking around.
“He’ll be along,” Smoky said. “He’s probably off ahead somewhere, scoping out the situation.”
They motioned for the rest of us to draw near, then clasped hands and closed their eyes. “Don’t let anybody jostle us until we finish,” said Camille.
Vanzir, Trillian, Smoky, and I formed a circle around them, facing out so that we could see anything coming our way. Morio and Camille began to whisper. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but the energy began to filter through the area, so strong that even I could feel it. A pale purple light encircled us, like tracers or quick, neon flashes in long narrow lines. I’d seen them work together enough; I knew this was one of the signature colors of their death magic.
“Weave the circle, tightly sewn,
Let nothing evil or unknown
Enter within. Stay without
On pain of death, we cast you out.”
Their voices blended as they slid into a call-and-response chant, with Camille leading and Morio responding.
“Ghostly creatures hear me . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“You of the Nether realms heed me . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“We weave this spell against your land . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“We build this circle to stay thy hands . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“A star of five points, the elements we call . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“A circle round star, to bind them all . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“Flaming light blooms from karmic flower . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
“Bind this spell till the Witching Hour . . .”
“Heart of the night, deep in the dark . . .”
As their voices fell away, a faint shimmer caught my eye. We were standing inside a misty purple vapor, and when I traced the pattern, I realized we were inside a pentagram—a star within a circle, sacred space created by their spellwork.
They took the forefront again. Camille glanced at us. “Stay within the circle of mist and we should have some protection. It won’t last once we begin physical combat—if we come to that—but we should be able to make it to the basement. I figure Morio and I might be able to protect the hostages long enough to bring them out using the spell.”
We moved forward, with my sister and her youkai-kitsune at the helm. Things began to fly off the walls and tables. In fact, one of the tables came skidding our way. Camille and Morio didn’t flinch, and the rest of us managed to hold our ground. As the pot, vase, pitchers, and table met the edges of the misty circle, they were repelled, rebounding off to the side.
Whatever Camille and Morio were doing, they were doing it right. We made it to the door leading into the back and slowly filed through, crowding together to keep within the confines of the circle.
“Stairs to the right,” Camille whispered. “We’re going to start down. Again—stay inside the circle or you might get hurt. The energy is so thick I could slice it up and serve it on toast.”
Slowly, she and Morio led the way, their palms facing forward as they pushed the energy of the moving pentagram before them. We kept up, walking slowly, in unison. As I stared at their backs, I began to notice a weaving of faint violet light between them—faint, almost imperceptible, like hair-thin threads joining their auras in a crosshatch pattern.
Only one person could descend the stairs at a time, so Camille took the lead and, whispering something beneath her breath in rhythm with Morio, slowly stepped on the first stair. Morio followed, then me, then Vanzir. Trillian and Smoky brought up the rear. The stairwell was narrow and the sides dark and dank. Mold grew along the wall, and I could see evidence of termites and rats.
As we entered the basement, the flashlights at Smoky’s and Trillian’s belts cast out faint shadows, barely to the edge of the circle in front of Camille and Morio. Three steps down and something crashed at the bottom of the stairs, loud and with the sound of breaking glass. A scream rang out, and the panicked sound of a woman’s voice.
“Jack, are you hurt? Jack? Oh my God, he’s been hit with a shard of glass. Stop it—whoever you are, stop it, please. Just let us go!”
“Who’s down there? We’ve come to help. How many of you are down there?” I called out. “Is anyone seriously hurt?”
There was a pause, and then the same woman’s weeping voice echoed up. “Thank God someone’s come! There are five of us, but I think Lance is dead. Jack’s hurt, and so is Teri. I’m still okay and Mocha seems to be, but she’s unconscious.”
“We’re partway down the stairs. Where are you?”
“When you get to the bottom, turn right and then left at the door. We’re in the back room and we can’t get out. There are . . . things in the room with us and every time we move, they come toward us.”
“Don’t move. Keep quiet and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Morio said. He turned back to us. “Keep the talking to a minimum. The spirits here are volatile and will do whatever they can to interfere.”
Even as he spoke, the stair beneath Camille’s feet splintered with a groan and she fell forward into the darkness. Morio immediately grabbed for her and caught her by the wrist, yanking her up onto his stair. The pentagram of protection flickered and vanished.
Breathing heavily, she glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide. But the next minute, she was back in control and, using Morio’s hand to brace herself, she stepped over the broken step to the next one below, testing it cautiously before putting her full weight on it. Morio kept hold of her until she’d taken another step down, and then he followed. I nimbly avoided the broken step but thought that a fall down into the darkness could have been deadly. At the very least, painful.
We slowly progressed, Camille testing every step along the way, until we were at last at the bottom of the stairs. The minute Camille stepped onto the floor, she gasped.
“What is it?” I whispered, keeping my voice low.
“Something just passed by me, brushed against me.” She glanced around, then moved to the left so the rest of us could exit the stairs.
“It was me,” Shade said, appearing out of the shadows. Everybody jumped, but the looks of relief were obvious. “I’ve had a look around—or tried to. The shadows here are so thick they’re hard to pierce. I found several areas that are filled with spirit activity. Up ahead, where the hostages are, is one of them.”
Camille exhaled, deeply. “You scared the fuck out of me, but I’m so glad it’s you. What do you think about our ghosts? You’ve spent time in the Netherworld.”
“They are no longer merely ghosts. I don’t know exactly what they are, but they’ve become far more dangerous than the typical spirit.”
“Great.” As I stepped onto the cement floor, a flash of lightning split the air—
en miniature
, to be sure, but lightning it was. A low rumble followed.
en miniature
, to be sure, but lightning it was. A low rumble followed.
“Crap,” Trillian said. “What the fuck was that?”
“Apparently, lightning.” A squirrely feeling raced over me, like unwelcome fingers across my skin.
“Lightning. Inside. Not a good sign.” Shade glanced around. “Camille, Morio, can you feel it? The energy of the Netherworld is thick here. There’s a tremendous amount of spirit activity concentrated in this basement. Whoa!” He sucked in a deep breath.
“What?” I’d barely managed to yelp when something knocked against me and I heard a low growl. A hand grabbed my arm, the grip far stronger than any human could manage. Fangs coming down, I let out a hiss and swiped toward it. My hand went through a semisolid amorphous mass, but the moment I came into contact with it, the creature—or whatever it was—disappeared, along with the pressure on my arm. “The ghosts are trying to mindfuck us.”
Camille sidled toward me. “Death magic deals with creatures from the Netherworld and shades and revenants, but not so much ghosts, though there is a connection. I’m not sure what to do. What do you think?” She glanced at Morio.
He shook his head. “Whatever this is, we can’t just wave our magic wands and say, “Go away,” and expect it to obey. I suppose we can try an exorcism?”
With a slow nod, she said, “Maybe, but first we have to get the people out of here. Look.”
She pointed toward the nearest wall, and Trillian flashed his light to follow. The basement wall, a grungy cream color, was oozing some sort of liquid from a crack. The liquid looked suspiciously familiar and I crept close, inhaling the scent. Hell.
Blood.
Blood.
“Don’t look now, but we’ve got an Amityville situation on our hands. That’s blood.”
“Amityville was a hoax. This isn’t.” Camille let out a long breath. “Come on, let’s find the ghost hunters and get them out of here.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out her own flashlight, switching it on as she began to stride forward. As her light splashed through the area, we saw the opposite wall. A door leading into yet another room stood open.
“They must be in there,” she whispered.
We started toward the opening, but before we could take more than a half dozen steps, the door slammed closed and a piercing scream came from the other side. One of the women.
“Damn it, I’ve had enough of this.” I raced full tilt at the door and grabbed the knob, yanking on it, but something was holding it closed from the other side. Whatever it was, it was just as strong as I was, and I had a feeling that an icy chill was seeping through the door like a thick fog.
Smoky reached my side and motioned for me to stand aside. I did, and he stepped back, then gave one tremendous kick to the door, splintering it to shreds. The look on his face was grim, and he motioned for Morio and Camille.
“You two—do something.”
Morio put his hands on Camille’s shoulders and she spread her arms wide.
“Mordente vanis, mordente konkor, mordente vanis en shau te Netherworld.”
“Mordente vanis, mordente konkor, mordente vanis en shau te Netherworld.”
Camille dropped her head back, her eyes rolling up in her head. As the faint purple light began to filter between them again, there was another crash as yet another lightning bolt splintered the air and she suddenly swung around, her eyes bloodred and the look on her face murderous.
“No, you shall not pass!” As she thrust one arm forward, a bolt of lightning forked from her hand, hitting me directly in the shoulder. The electrified tuning rod knocked me off my feet, singeing my shirt, but it did no more than stun me. Five inches to the southwest and it would have struck me in the heart and quite possibly dusted me.
As I shook my head, struggling to regain my footing, Morio smacked Camille across the face. Hard. Hard enough to drop her. She screamed as a dark fog lifted from her shoulders, out of her eyes and mouth, then slumped to the floor.
Smoky roared but managed to restrain himself from attacking Morio. Trillian raced to Camille’s side while Shade helped me to my feet.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck just happened?” I shook my head to clear the ringing in my ears.
“Some entity just tried to take over Camille—it sent the bolt at you, not her.” Morio shook his head. “We don’t dare use any aggressive magic in here—not now that we know it can possess her. If it had taken hold of me, you might have had to kill me because I’m one hell of a lot stronger than she is.”
I pushed past them and through the door. “The fuck with this—where are those people?”
“We’re here!” The cry came from the right, and I turned toward the voice. There, at the end of the hall, huddled a group of five people. Four were on the ground, two of them conscious. The woman we’d been talking to was crouching behind them, the look on her face one of sheer terror.
I raced down the hall, ignoring the invisible hands that reached for me from the walls, and crouched beside her. She looked up at me and cringed.
“You’re a vampire!”
“Yeah, and you’re not. I’m here to help you, so either deal with it or we’ll pack up and leave.” I quickly examined the three figures who were dead to the world. One really was—dead, that is. One was hurt and unconscious; the other appeared to be fine but her eyes were closed. A fifth figure—a woman—sat propped against one of the walls with a jacket draped over her. By the odd way her leg stuck out, it was obvious that she’d broken it.
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