Captive Spirit (8 page)

Dio nodded, making eye contact with Camille as easily as she seemed to avoid it with Bela and Andy. “In flame form, they’re impervious to any threat, even water, but they can’t do any damage. I think elemental locking could prevent the shape-shifting, and maybe even force them to stay corporeal.”

Andy raised both hands to the starry sky like she was beseeching the universe. “Goodie. We’ll keep them all solid and furry. But how do we find them and
how do we kill them?
”

“Pierce their hearts with elementally locked metal.” Dio’s words rushed out like an errant breeze. Her face was turned toward her packet again, but her eyes were closed. “Take their heads, burn the bodies and heads, and disperse the ashes in different directions.”

Andy stared at her, mouth slightly open.

Camille’s eyes got bigger, which was hard, since her face always seemed to be more eyes than anything else.

“We have to stab them with special metal, behead them, burn them,
and
blow their soot to hell and back?” Andy’s fingers flickered against the zipper of her bodysuit. “Shit. Couldn’t they just explode into elemental energy like all the other demons we’ve fought?”

Dio looked at her drawings. “Ashes of the head in one direction, ashes of the body in the other. Otherwise, they’ll reconstitute, fully healed and ready to fight. They come back to life in a hurry once they’re completely dead—faster and faster each time they die and return.”

Bela tried to comprehend the precision and effort it would take to destroy one of the tiger-things, much less a bunch of them, especially in a battle. The headache she had slept off across the day gave a first poke, like it might be trying to come back, and she massaged her forehead with her palm. “We don’t have enough Sibyls in New York City to take on a fresh horde of ancient demons with special pain-in-the-ass properties.”

Dio shook her head, but none of her hair moved. “They’re not a horde. They’re a pride—six, maybe eight at the most, if they’re sticking true to history. There weren’t more than a few dozen to begin with—but they shouldn’t be here.” She finally looked up, and her gray eyes brushed across Bela’s face before settling on Camille again. “Rakshasa haven’t walked this earth freely in a millennium or more.”

“Did someone summon them?” Camille hugged herself instead of tugging at her hair, which Bela took as a good sign.

“They can’t be summoned.” Dio flipped through her packet, then set the papers down. “They’re nobody’s servants—at least not like that. In older days, they chose whom to support in various wars and conflicts in the Middle East based on who gave them the best gifts, and they built their ranks by attacking and infecting humans they thought had good physical or psychic potential. Legend has it that most of the Created didn’t survive the conversion, or the demon foot soldiers just went nuts and ate everybody, allies and fellow foot soldiers alike.”

“Kind of like the Legion,” Andy said, “only stupider.”

Bela could have done without that comparison, but she forced herself to stay focused on what Dio was saying.
Building their ranks. Infecting humans
. That didn’t sound good. Her thoughts arrowed toward the brownstone and Duncan, with his dark, boiling slash wounds.

“Is there any cure for it when they infect humans?” she asked, aware of Andy’s steady gaze. “Can the Created be … uncreated?”

“I didn’t find anything about that, no.” Dio frowned and glanced in the direction of the brownstone as well. “Once bitten or scratched, humans will turn. They won’t be as big or powerful as the Rakshasa who made them, but they’re very dangerous, and loyal only to those who infected them. I don’t think there’s a way to reverse the process.”

Dio hesitated, and Bela thought she sounded regretful. Andy’s expression melted into a frown, and Camille fidgeted with her hair. Bela tried to absorb their reactions to keep her own emotions under control, but she wasn’t that successful. She wanted to throw up the remnants of the spinach-avocado-pepperoni sandwich Andy had made her eat before they left. She wanted to go home, go to her room, lock the door, and just … stay there alone, for a long, long time.

“A king got ticked off when the Rakshasa backed one of his enemies,” Dio said as she folded up her drawings. “This king found a way to trap the original demons forever in some faraway desert.” With a Sibyl’s unfailing sense of direction, Dio pointed east—probably meaning far, far east. “All of the Created Rakshasa were killed off, and the race faded from history and awareness.”

Andy pushed her red curls behind her ears. “Well, some asshole set the granddaddy kitties free.”

“We don’t know that,” Dio countered, but when Andy glared at her, she lifted both hands just like Andy had done a few minutes before. “Okay, fine. Say somebody did let them out. Why are they here? I mean, why are they here in New York City?”

Camille looked thoughtful. “I get it. They could be in Riyadh, or London, or Cairo. Why us—why now?”

Andy’s reflective frown made her look more like a police officer than anything else. “Maybe the better question is, who’s paying them?”

Bela stared at Andy, still too numb over Duncan Sharp’s fate to grasp Andy’s train of thought. “Where did you get that? Dio didn’t say anything about money.”

“She made it sound like they’re the were-tiger branch of the Mafia, with Persian accents and a Dahmer complex.” Andy reached to her hip and did a check on her Heckler & Koch P-11 underwater dart pistol. “Eating people for personal gain, to increase their own standing—all of that, right? I say if they’re in NYC, it’s because somebody met their price.”

“That makes sense.” Camille let her hair go, and Bela glanced at her, wanting a spark, a bit of smoke—some hint of her elemental powers surging with her thoughts and emotions.

No such luck.

Camille was as still and controlled as an earth Sibyl as she said, “I think they’re a lot smarter than demons we’ve dealt with in the past. If we assume that the Rakshasa escaped containment somewhere and that they’re out to rebuild their power in today’s world, they’ll understand that they need modern knowledge, weapons, and conveniences.”

“And modern sources and symbols of power, like money.” Bela heard her own voice talking, but she felt thousands of miles away. Half her brain was already deep into biology and equations, because all infections had enemies. Heat, antibiotics, cold, antithetical energy—there had to be some way to stop a demon infection. They couldn’t just let Duncan die. Well, worse than die. Go demon, then get slaughtered by the same Sibyl swords and daggers that had saved him in DUMBO.

“We need to take this info to the OCU and let them work it through their federal contacts,” she added. “If we check account activity related to criminal groups, maybe we can pick up a pattern of money changing hands that correlates with Rakshasa movements around the city.”

The group went silent, and Bela thought she understood the new, deeper stillness.

“Yep,” Andy said, putting the angst into words. “The kitties will be roving the streets. Who knows where they’ll strike next—or why? And who would be idiot enough to pay Rakshasa demons to come to New York?”

Bela was about to ask Dio to make a new list of criminal elements on the rise when they got back to the brownstone—groups who might be scrambling for some advantage, no matter how dangerous—but all the flowers and bushes in the Olmsted garden started to shake.

Andy drew her dart pistol. “I think we’ve got company.”

Bela’s breath jammed in her throat.

This time, when she reached out with her earth senses, a bitter, foul-smelling pressure slammed against her awareness. Her teeth slammed together against the metallic taste of disrupted earth, of unnatural energy.

Just like in DUMBO, only not quite as strong
.

“Rakshasa!” Bela’s pulse sped to racing as her quad jammed their face masks back into place and scrambled to draw weapons. The tattoo on her right forearm tingled, then ached with the primitive distress signal Camille sent to summon other Sibyl patrols—but they didn’t have many in the city right now.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she growled to the demons, imagining the leader, that white tiger-beast Dio had drawn, coming to kill one—or all—of the women she now called sister Sibyls.

“Behind me,” she called to her quad. “Now!”

(8)

Bela spun toward the southwest as she yanked back her earth power and drove it into the ground about five feet in front of the pavement where they were standing. It would be a barrier, enough to make the bastards stumble, but not for long.

Her breath came fast, faster as she zipped her face mask. Immediately sweat poured into the leather across her forehead, just from the effort of holding the barrier.

She ripped her serrated blade free of its ties and scabbard and hoisted the sword over her head. Battle senses told her Camille was two paces back on her right,
shamshir
drawn, though the blade wasn’t on fire. Andy had her dart pistol at the ready on Bela’s left, two paces back from Camille, and water energy seeped around the quad, adding power to Bela’s barrier.

Dio’s footsteps told Bela she had moved wide right, and the clink of her throwing daggers sounded loud and cold in the otherwise quiet night. Wind sputtered, then sailed forward, binding water and earth even closer.

The air around them chilled, and the stench of ammonia made Bela’s eyes water. She forced more energy into the barrier between them and the approaching demon. Her elbows wobbled from the effort.

Where the hell were the creatures?

Why couldn’t she see them?

Come on, Camille
. Bela willed the fire Sibyl to find her spark and add the amazing strength of fire to their elemental wall so that Bela could fight with more force.
These are
demons, not drunk kids who found Grandma’s
Book of Shadows
in the attic
.

Out loud, she said, “You did it in DUMBO, Camille. I know you can. Dig deep!”

Camille let out a low cry of frustration. The wall’s energy wavered as she tried so hard to ignite her fire that it yanked against everyone else’s power.

Bela almost dropped her sword, but Camille cut off her efforts just in time to keep the protective barrier from shattering.

“Never mind,” Dio snarled before Camille could try again. Battle rage pushed the air Sibyl’s volume and anger to full throttle. “Just swing that damned sword when the time comes.”

Bela’s jaw got so tight her eye twitched, but she got control of her power and her blade. Blood thumped so hard in her temples that it cracked against her skull. She stared into the darkness, searching for any sign of supernatural life through the shimmer of their elemental energy.

“There!” Andy called, pointing almost directly back toward the brownstone.

Two tall, thin columns of blue flame danced and flickered across grass and pavement, weaving through plants and bushes and trees.

In front of the flames came a dark, broad shape, plowing forward like a tank on legs. Six foot five, maybe taller. Brown fur. Fangs. And it was wearing some sort of metal mesh armor. Flowers and grass flew in every direction as the demon stormed toward them, ripping up the earth with its claws.

“Get the heart,” Bela told Andy. “Camille, if I miss the head—”

The thing slammed into their protective wall, staggered, and slammed into it again.

Bela’s brain bashed against her skull from the impact. She struggled to keep her blade raised, to keep her feet on the ground. Beside her, Andy swayed and almost lost her footing. Somewhere in the distance, Dio let out a shriek from the pile-driving force of dark energy trying to smash through their natural barrier.

The Rakshasa’s eyes blazed orange-yellow, full of hate and rage. Behind it, the two blue flames flickered but didn’t shift into any other form. Bela hoped like hell the elemental barrier would keep those two demons incorporeal. If they made it into cat-monsters, that many would be strong enough to blow through the barrier and eat her before she could get off a good swing of her blade.

The creature let out a howl that burned through Bela’s bones. She felt its intent through the earth it touched. Killing. Blood. And … pleasing its master.

An image of the white tiger-demon flashed through Bela’s mind.

“Get away from my quad.” The words wheezed out of her mouth as she swept earth energy under its clawed feet and let the earth shake. The demon danced, but got its balance back fast. She caused another quake, as powerful as she dared without risking setting off a cascade reaction that would open a fault straight down Broadway.

No luck.

The demon had the hang of that trick now.

Bela slammed dirt left and right at the same time to make a pit, but the demon jumped clear of the hole in the ground.

The Rakshasa raised its big paws and hammered against the barrier.

Bela felt each blow like a punch to the chest. Air mashed from her lungs and she stopped stirring the earth around the creature. It was all she could do to keep the base of the energy barrier steady. She was barely tracking Camille and Andy and Dio now, and she couldn’t hold her sword up much longer.

Andy fired once. Twice. The darts hit the demon’s armor and dropped to the ground.

One of Dio’s three-pronged African throwing knives whistled past Bela and dug itself into the thing’s forehead.

It howled once, then ignored the knife in its brain, charged toward Dio, and beat on the barrier in front of her. She faced it down, snarl for snarl, and drew back with another knife.

The demon’s massive, clawed paw punched through the barrier.

Bela yelped and stumbled from the fracture of her earth energy.

The creature grabbed Dio’s leathers, jerked her forward, and twisted the neckline tight around Dio’s windpipe. She choked. Tried to kick at the thing. It raised its other paw to slice her with its claws.

A blazing rush of adrenaline drove Bela forward. “Not happening!” She ground her teeth and poured her focus into hoisting her blade. Before the Rakshasa could so much as breathe on Dio’s face again, Bela lunged and hacked its arm off at the shoulder. It reeled away and howled, swiping at the space where its ugly paw had been.

Dio shoved the severed arm away from her and bent over, massaging her throat. She still had a knife in her other hand, but her shoulders were shaking too hard for her to throw it.

Water blasted the wounded Rakshasa, knocking it sideways as the columns of blue flames that came with it moved north and south, to either side of the quad.

Camille started toward the demon,
shamshir
at the ready, but Bela called her back. “The barrier! Help me now!”

Her quad pulled in, weapons facing out, as Bela drew on the earth and built a new wall of energy. Andy’s water power laced through hers a split second later. Dio’s wind energy came next—but still no fire.

“
Damnit!
” Camille shouted from Bela’s left. “I—I can’t!”

The blue flame columns circled the new protective wall.

“They’re testing it.” Dio managed to get to her feet. “And here comes that other bastard again.”

The Rakshasa Bela had wounded was charging toward them—with two good arms.

Bela glanced at the ground. The beast’s severed paw was still bleeding on the grass.

“Fuck me,” Andy said. “Guess that’s what ‘reconstitute’ means.”

Dio hurled her throwing knife through the barrier and took off one of the demon’s cat ears. It kept coming.

A second knife and then a third hit the thing’s mesh armor and fell useless in the grass. The blue flame columns flickered on either side of them.

“They’re surrounding us,” Dio shouted. “Kill it now. Right now!”

Andy and Camille surged forward, and Dio’s wind energy wavered in the barrier. Bela dropped her sword and concentrated every bit of her essence on keeping the protection intact. Her chest crushed as she stopped breathing, giving all of herself to the task. She didn’t give a shit if the demon ripped off her head, as long as her quad took the bastard down and got out of Central Park alive.

“To hell with this.” Andy dropped to one knee and aimed her pistol. Water sprayed down both arms as she fired. The water-encased dart screamed past Bela like a torpedo, the wave surrounding it moving faster and harder with each fraction of a second.

Bela forced the barrier into the Rakshasa’s chest, shaping its edges like a spreader.

The metal mesh armor separated, about an inch, only an inch—and Andy’s dart plunged through the hole she created, lancing into the Rakshasa’s chest.

The creature bellowed and grabbed for the dart, then seemed to freeze where it stood, immobilized. At the same moment, the two blue flames scattered through the air and retreated into the darkness.

Bela let the barrier collapse and fell toward her sword.

Have to cut off its head
.

Her knees hit pavement hard enough to make her teeth rattle. Her palms scraped pavement. Her head swam, and her gulps of air didn’t seem to fill her lungs.

Have to get my sword before it pulls out that dart, or starts healing, or—

Her fingers closed on the hilt, but she couldn’t pick it up, couldn’t pick herself up.

Damnit!

The dart fired backward out of the Rakshasa’s chest, and the creature flung itself toward her, across where the barrier had been.

Andy shot the thing with the rest of her darts, one, two, three, all in the chest, missing the heart, and it kept coming. Water and wind slammed into its face, and still it was coming. Inches from her now. Leaning down. Reaching to snatch her off the ground.

Its mouth opened.

Fangs parted. Sulfurous spit dripped and sizzled on the pavement in front of Bela.

Goddess, the stink of it! Like a thousand rotten graves.

She retched as light flickered beside her, and she turned her head, hoping to see Camille with a blazing sword.

Instead she saw a man.

The shimmering ghostly outline of a man, golden and indistinct, except she thought he was wearing some kind of uniform.

Bela’s heart gave a wild pitch against her ribs. Time contracted, then expanded.

The apparition spread its arms as if to protect her, and when its fingers brushed across the top of her head, energy rushed into her. Cool. Familiar. Almost like her own earth power. Not enough to let her join the fight, but enough to help her lift her head—and her sword.

The Rakshasa hesitated and growled. It swiped its claws at the specter instead of cutting Bela to ribbons.

Bela rammed her blade straight into the thing’s chest. The sword tip glanced off hard bone, rattling her arms at the elbows, but she knew she’d hit her target because the demon stopped moving.

At the same second, Camille blasted through the golden phantasm sheltering Bela. It shattered into thousands of pieces of golden light. Camille screamed and swung her
shamshir
at the Rakshasa’s neck.

Flesh tore.

Demon bone cracked.

Bela felt impacts as the thing’s severed head knocked her sword out of her grip, bounced off her thigh, and tumbled away, taking her blade on a clattering roll across the pavement. She barely managed to pitch herself sideways, out of the way of a spray of black, stinking blood.

Camille screamed again, stuck out her bloody blade, and shot a torrent of flames at the rolling head. It exploded into fire and burned like ignited wax. She swung her sword around and scorched the body of the demon as it twitched on the pavement beside Bela.

The stink of ammonia gave way to the stench of burned leather and flesh and fur—and fried hair. Bela didn’t need to feel her face to know that her eyebrows were gone.

Again.

Her face mask was totally singed away, and her face was so hot it was probably blistering.

She opened her mouth to whimper thanks to the Goddess for her life, but grit and pebbles slammed into her cheeks. The night tilted and roared as a fully formed tornado swept the ashes of the demon’s body east, digging a furrow through the park’s grass as it went. Bela groaned as she rubbed her palms against her stinging face.

The air around her howled all over again. Bela’s ears popped like she was landing in a jet. She grabbed the edges of the pavement and glued herself into the ground with what little earth energy she could muster—not fast enough. Another spinning funnel sucked up the remains of the demon’s head and rumbled across her back, bouncing her like a basketball and ripping her leathers open as it headed west.

Trees, bushes, buildings … she didn’t even want to know what kind of damage those twisters were doing to Manhattan.

Pierce it in the heart, take the head, disperse the ashes—okay, okay. I think we’re done now
.

Bela lifted her own head.

A torrent of water hit her straight in her burning, stinging face. The swirling shower-blast washed her and the ground around her completely clean.

“Oh,” Andy said from somewhere nearby. “Um, sorry.”

Bela coughed and snorted out water as Camille helped her get to her feet. Bela’s knees were shaking. She heard herself swearing. A lot. And the wind was picking up again, with a totally different flavor. It was focused completely on Bela.

This time, Andy said, “Uh-oh.”

Bela shook herself free from Camille’s grip. “Andy, Camille—wait for me by the stone fence. This might take a second.”

“Not.” Andy shook her head, sending droplets raining down from her ears and cheeks. She jogged to Bela and took her hand. “If you go down, I’m going with you.”

Camille didn’t answer, but she didn’t head for the fence, either.

The pressure against Bela’s face and ears felt a lot like being fired off the Empire State Building by some giant slingshot. Her heart pounded, but more from anxiety than fear or anger. She had so few opportunities with Dio. Would this be a good one or a disaster?

I might as well say yes to joining your quad
, she had told Bela after spending two hours trying to kill Bela out in Motherhouse Greece’s stone fighting arena.
If I’m not fighting with you, I’ll spend all my time thinking about fighting against you. That’s not good for me or you or the Sisterhood. And neither is staying here when we’re so short on Sibyls
.

Dio’s wind blew Andy dry and almost knocked Camille off her feet. Bela had to use a big dose of earth power to stay on her feet against the incredible force Dio was exerting as she stormed forward.