Grave Matters: A Night Owls Novel (27 page)

Elly turned to Sunny and Lia. “Okay. You two go around the back, make sure he doesn’t try to run. Take Justin with you and meet us inside.” He seemed about to protest until she grinned at him. “Don’t worry, he’ll have sentries up if he’s smart. You’re not going to be twiddling your thumbs.” To the others she said, “No use sneaking. He knows we’re here by now. Ready?”

They were.

They stepped onto the lot. Sunny pulled her dagger from the ground, but the house didn’t vanish on them.

“Let’s go.”

A few hours ago, Elly’d been sure she’d fought her last fight. It felt damned good now, the ground pounding beneath her feet, her spike—which Cavale had rescued from the firehouse floor—heavy in her grip, and a roomful of ghouls waiting for them inside.

The front door was unlocked and opened onto a massive, empty great room. The hardwood floors were dull with a layer of dust; the light fixture hanging high above sported ropes of cobwebs. Dotted across the floor like dancers waiting for their partners were the ghouls, half a dozen of them in various states of decay. Val darted past as soon as Chaz invited her inside, Cavale right behind.

Chaz cursed and stepped up beside her, holding the tire iron he’d taken from the Mustang like a baseball bat. “I was sort of hoping we could go straight to their boss. Oop.” A ghoul wandered close. Chaz met it halfway, swinging for the fences, the socket end of the tire iron lodging deep into its skull. “Aww, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said, and wrenched it out with a dry cracking of bone.

Another followed it, and Elly pushed past Chaz to get to it. The ghoul bellowed as its fist looped around. She ducked beneath the blow, coming up behind it.
Too dark in here.
Despite the massive bay window, the weak light from the streetlamps didn’t penetrate all the way toward where she stood.
Thank God for penlights.
She pulled hers out of her back pocket as the ghoul spun, seeking her out. The light was thin enough that she could hold it alongside the spike and not need to worry about her grip. It sent a beam of light along the point, precisely what she needed.

Behind her, Chaz had recovered the tire iron and got in another good blow. He put his whole body behind it, and this time, the ghoul’s head tilted at a sickening angle. It dropped to the ground, down but not out. Chaz bent to finish the job.

Elly’s ghoul swung again, and again she dodged its fist. She stayed half a step out of its range, making it chase her, making it move. No sigil on its neck that she could see, none on its hands. The next time it made a grab for her, Elly dragged the spike down the rotted fabric of its sleeve. The material tore easily, exposing the ghoul’s withered forearm.
There.

Carved into the wrinkly flesh—what was left of it—was Udrai’s mark. Elly had a palmful of salt in her free hand. She lashed out with the spike, splitting the mark down the middle. The spike clattered to the floor as she caught the ghoul’s wrist and pulled its arm out taut. A couple Sundays back, Elly’d helped Sunny prepare the steak she was cooking for dinner. Sunny had uncapped a jar of her special grill rub—salt, pepper, cayenne, other spices—and asked Elly to slather it on the meat. She was reminded of that sensation now as she ground the salt into the ghoul’s torn flesh, the crystals grinding wetly against her skin.

She thought maybe she’d hold off on steak dinners for a while.

It worked, though. The ghoul gave one last sigh and collapsed, dead again.

Retrieving the spike, she looked around for another to fight, and found there weren’t any. As she watched, Val kicked a head away from a prone body. Chaz had another in a wrestling hold—his arms up under its armpits, his hands locked behind its neck—while Cavale swooped in with his knife and destroyed the sigil. Two other bodies lay in a heap by the gargantuan fireplace.

They all looked at one another, then at the grand staircase. Elly nodded toward it, and the others got moving.

Up the stairs and down the hall, the open side of the passageway offering a lovely view of the great room. Or, what would have been a lovely view if they hadn’t left corpses strewn all around. Even the sitting rooms had sitting rooms in this house, it seemed. The hallway led them on a labyrinthine path, but it was all architecture, nothing supernatural. Father Value had taught them to keep track of which way they were facing, always, and Elly didn’t lose her bearings.

Toward the back of the house, they came to the master bedroom. In here, there was a light on—one table lamp with no shade, sitting atop a milk crate. Through a set of French doors, Elly saw the flagstones and balustrade of the wraparound balcony. Carpet that had once been cream-colored was tracked with dirt and rot. One corner was filled with fast-food wrappers and empty cans of cold pasta.

Where the designer had likely imagined a four-poster bed fit for royalty was only a thin mattress, covered in blankets that needed a wash.

Sitting primly at its edge was a woman Elly recognized.

Dunyasha.

Elly hadn’t seen her since that night at Ivanov’s, when the
Oisín
had asked for their meeting. She had a long, rectangular face, that upturned nose. Everything about her was hard angles and jagged points; she’d grown thinner since that day in the bar. Gaunt. Creating a small legion of vampires in a short span of time probably took a lot out of you. Dunyasha held up her hand with all its rings. They clattered loosely against one another. “You should go,” she said. She looked at all of them, her gaze lingering on Val. “It’s not safe for any of you.”

“Where is he? The necromancer?”

She didn’t answer at first, twisting one of her rings around her bony finger. At last she said, “We’re leaving, you know. Ivanov will kill me if I stay, after . . . after what I did. Another hour and we’d be out of your hair. You could just . . . go.”

“No, we really can’t,” said Elly. The others had filed into the room, Cavale to her right, Val and Chaz to her left. Sounds drifted up from other parts of the house: Sunny, Lia, and Justin, getting closer but not quite broken through whatever surprises had been left around back. Maybe she could end this before they were all together. “Where is he?”

Dunyasha sighed and stood. She wore an ice blue camisole over a pair of tailored black slacks. The top was inappropriate for the season, out of place in this neglected house. Her shoes’ silver heels dimpled the carpet. “He’s not receiving visitors.” Her mouth twisted with disdain—haughty Dunyasha, relegated to the role of secretary.

Val’s head whipped up. She inhaled sharply and stared at the balcony, just as two shapes appeared on the other side of the glass. A cold blast of November air whirled in as the door opened. She didn’t know the taller person—a man in his twenties when he’d died, his shaggy red hair sticking out from under a Red Sox cap—but Elly groaned as Deirdre strode into the light to flank Dunyasha.

“
You
could run,” said Elly softly. “Take them and go, join some other coven or start your own. You must have money tucked away. Do you even know Ivanov took the
Oisín
away from you? He used the necromancer to do it, got him to play both sides. Or do you really believe you gave them all those orders yourself?”

Dunyasha looked startled. “He . . . Ivanov? No. He couldn’t have. He . . .” She shook her head. “Why not just kill us all, if he knew?”

“To make an example of you,” said Val. “Your life was already forfeit at that point.”

Elly didn’t care about Dunyasha in the slightest. She felt nothing—no pity, no satisfaction—as the woman’s cheeks flushed with anger and her hands curled into fists as she realized how thoroughly she’d been used. Far as she was concerned, Dunyasha had started this whole damned mess, even if Ivanov
had
co-opted it for his own means. But Deirdre . . . she was a pawn in a war between two ancient vampires. She didn’t deserve to die for either of them. If that meant letting Dunyasha go, too, well. Ivanov’s politics weren’t Elly’s concern outside Southie. “Please. We don’t have to fight.”

“Yes, they do.” Val sounded sad. “They’re not in control of themselves.”

The others moved at human-speed, but even with the necromancer in control Dunyasha was
fast
. She streaked toward Val, fangs and claws out and turning her into a monster from a cocktail party gone wrong.

Val caught and deflected blow after blow, taking the brunt of the hits on her forearms. Dunyasha screeched as she drove Val backward, a sound almost matching the whistling air as her claws ripped through it. Some of the swipes got through, until the sleeve of Val’s sweatshirt hung from her arm in bloody tatters.

The farther back Dunyasha forced her, the more Elly could see Val’s strength beginning to flag. Val was
good
, but Dunyasha was
old
.

On top of that, Elly suspected the necromancer could make her keep going well past exhaustion if he wanted. She was a puppet, and he was the one pulling her strings.

Still, Val held her own. For the moment.

Cavale, meanwhile, had wasted no time with the unnamed redhead. Elly couldn’t have tracked Val and Dunyasha for more than a few seconds, but Cavale already had the vampire on the ground, curled into the fetal position with a length of cedar protruding from his back.

They spotted Chaz at the same time, fending off Deirdre with his tire iron. “Guys? A little help here? This is steel, not silver.”

Maybe don’t tell her that.

She and Cavale reached Deirdre at the same time. Cavale was ready with his stake, but Elly shoved herself between him and the vampire. “No. Not if we don’t have to.”

Deirdre’s head turned at the sound of Elly’s voice. Her body went right on scrabbling at Chaz, but her eyes found Elly. She opened her mouth—raw, bloody holes where Katya had torn out her fangs—and let out that terrible moan from the morning they’d attacked Ivanov’s.
She’s still in there. Fighting him.

“We’ll get you out,” Elly told her. Then, to Chaz and Cavale: “Find the sigil.”

Chaz took advantage of Deirdre’s distraction, skirted around those flailing claws, and—shaking his head like he was going to regret it—got in behind her. He planted his feet between hers, slipped his arms around her, and got her in that hold he’d used on the ghoul. Deirdre snarled and spun, but Chaz moved with her. “Hurry up before she takes my arms off. She’s fucking strong.”

Her shirt pulled up as Deirdre struggled to get free.
There.
The sigil was on the lower part of her belly, a dark smudge against her pale skin. Elly’s spike flashed out, dug a gash in its center. Deirdre howled as the poison silver stung, the flesh burning and cracking and oozing as though splashed with acid.

But she didn’t stop fighting.

“What’s going on?” asked Chaz. His muscles were corded with the strain of holding her. Elly could see the tremble building in his arms.
He can’t hold her much longer.
“She’s . . . Fuck.” The last came as Deirdre whipped her head back, hard. He had time to duck, a little, but there wasn’t far to move and keep the hold. Their heads met with a
crack
, and when Chaz peered at Elly and Cavale over her shoulder, his forehead was a red mess.

Forehead wounds bleed a lot. He’s fine.

She’s not.

Deirdre didn’t drop. The only thing that changed was the pitch of her moan, as another sigil formed above the old one. “Shit.” Elly slashed at the new one. Same effect—black-edged, ruined skin, the mark destroyed. And, a heartbeat later, another took its place.

Cavale was beside her. He met her incredulous stare. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s so close by it doesn’t matter. We have to—”

“I know.” She hefted the spike and made sure she could see Deirdre’s eyes. “Chaz, keep her still.”

“Fucking
trying
.”

The moan softened, stopped. It was like watching a clockwork toy wind down, the way her limbs slowed and her head hung.
She’s fighting the spell.
But it wouldn’t last. All Deirdre could do was buy Elly a precious second for a clear shot.

She pulled a cedar stake from her belt, said, “I’m so sorry,” and drove it into Deirdre’s chest.

Chaz staggered as she sagged, regained his balance as the ash swept over her and she crumbled in his arms. He didn’t have time to parse what had just happened, though: across the room, Dunyasha had Val pinned in the corner.

The single bulb splashed three long shadows over the walls as Elly, Cavale, and Chaz fanned out to help.

They were halfway to Val when their shadows came alive. They melded together, weaving into one another like a braid, darkening, deepening. They split apart, two instead of three, and flowed down to the floor where they collected in inky puddles.

Out of those puddles rose the succubi.

Gone were the gentle women who shared their cozy house in Edgewood. Seven feet tall they were, their skin the violet of the sky after the sun has just set. Sunny was the taller of the two now, her hair barely more than a dark fuzz over her scalp. Lia’s eyes were black pools in her narrow face. Long, brown dreadlocks hung past her shoulders. Both carried their keris knives—one long, one short in each pair. Smoke curled up off the blades.

They flowed over to Dunyasha, each taking an arm, and dragged her off Val. The
Stregoi
thrashed and kicked, one of her spiked heels sailing off and barely missing Justin as he skidded into the room. He was bruised and bloody, but alive.

“Stake her,” Elly said. She didn’t much care who followed the order, already scanning what she could see of the balcony for signs of the necromancer. This was so close to done. Justin raised a brow, went to where she pointed without argument. They got into position on either side of the doors.

Behind them, Dunyasha shrieked one last time as the stake pierced her heart.

23

D
UNYASHA FELL, AND
that was when it all went pear-shaped.

Chaz remembered Dunyasha vaguely, from the few times he’d accompanied Val into Boston those first few years. She’d mostly avoided them, treating Val like one of those out-of-town cousins you don’t
really
want in your house, but you have to make nice with. Chaz she didn’t even acknowledge. Her own Renfields were hardly more than household staff to her, sent to fetch and carry and otherwise stay the hell out of the way.

It didn’t surprise him she’d been plotting against Ivanov, aiming to make the
Stregoi
hers. She’d given her vampiric liege the same snotty reception she gave everyone else.

Still, he felt a twinge of guilt when Val walked up to where Sunny and Lia held her. Knowing how strong Deirdre was, how strong Val was, how impossibly fucking strong Dunyasha
must be
, for those two to stand there like it was
no big thing
made Chaz resolve—not for the first time—never to piss the succubi off.

It was over fast. No last words, no begging. Dunyasha didn’t stop her squirming like Deirdre had, but maybe she thought she had a chance to get away.

Val raised her stake and struck true.

The
Stregoi
woman turned to ash.

The necromancer stepped into view out on the balcony.

Elly saw him at the same time as Chaz, probably reflected in the glass of the open doors. She darted around, wasting no time, that silver spike of hers in her grip. Then Justin was there, beside her, following her out.

He stumbled.

“No,” said Chaz, dread rising in his throat, choking him. “No, no.
Elly, watch out!
”

Justin recovered his gait. He reached for Elly, snatched a handful of her sweater, and yanked her backward, into his arms.

His arms, with Udrai’s sigil etching itself on his exposed skin.

Elly
oof
ed at the impact. She hadn’t seen the sigil, but she wasn’t someone you randomly grabbed at, either. She stomped down hard on Justin’s instep, latched onto him while he was off balance, and perfectly executed one of the throws Lia had made Chaz practice for a whole afternoon.

Chaos broke out behind him.

Val gasped and shoved herself away from where Sunny and Lia stood. “Get away,” she spat, when Lia stepped toward her. “I can feel him. He’s in my head.” Her hands fluttered up to clutch at her skull. The movements were jerky, like two puppeteers pulling on the same marionette’s strings. She lurched half a step at Lia, then propelled herself backward. One step. Two. Forward again. “Run. Run, get away from me. Run.”

Justin scrabbled after Elly on all fours, got her around the ankle, and yanked her down. He dragged her toward him, climbed atop her chest, and pinned her. Didn’t matter how hard she bucked beneath him; she couldn’t throw him off. He shook his head like a dog with a bee-stung nose.
“Nnnnnnn. Nnno.”

But his body wasn’t his. He swiped out with a claw, got her in the midsection. The wound Udrai had closed not two hours earlier gushed open again, as though Justin had torn away a layer of fake skin. All the color drained from her face, her lips gone grey, Udrai’s . . . gift? glamour? fading.

Her grip loosened on her spike. It rolled away from her hand.

Cavale flashed past Chaz and scooped up the spike. Elly had her hands up to fend off another blow from Justin, but it never came. Cavale grabbed him by the hair, pulled him off Elly, and shoved him away. Justin rolled. Cavale followed. He caught Justin before the kid could regain his feet, hefted the spike, and drove it into Justin’s shoulder. He was screaming, words Chaz couldn’t quite make out, but he didn’t think they were a spell. Grief, and fury, and fear, they didn’t really need words.

I know how all this goes.

Chaz could see it, clear as if it were projected on a screen, as if it actually
were
happening:

Val loses the fight against the necromancer’s control. Her arm snakes out, fingers hooked into talons as her claws tear out Lia’s throat.

Sunny sees Lia fall. Throws herself at Val, that smoking blade seeking vengeance, severing Val’s head neat as you please, but not before Val gets in one last swipe. They all die together, Sunny cradling Lia in her arms.

On his other side, Justin beats Cavale into a pulp; the warlock has no fight left in him, doesn’t even resist. Then the silver sickness spreads, and Justin lies down beside Elly. His eyes are the last part of him to turn to ash; he dies watching the life leach out of her.

And missing from all of the carnage is Chaz, the last one alive because he’s no goddamned threat at all, made to watch the necromancer, West, make his exit.

Left to pick up the pieces, even though with all of them dead, there are no pieces left worth picking up.

Or maybe if he was lucky, West would drag him to the balcony and pitch him off it, trading his death off one last time before he got out, got on a bus, a train, an international flight.

The scenario flashed through his mind in the space of a heartbeat, though whether it was simple logic or a vivid imagination or an actual, bona fide
vision
, he didn’t know. All he knew was he’d be alone, in the end, if he let this play out.

Fuck. That.

Chaz stepped up to where Lia stood, still looking for a way to help Val. Her daggers were in their sheaths at her hip. He plucked one out, the shorter one.

It doesn’t like me.
Of course it didn’t; it wasn’t his. It thrummed in his hand, and he could
feel
the spirit bound within the metal. It didn’t like him, but it was hungry, and he could feed it.

Lia looked down at him, and he had time to think she didn’t look all that surprised. Sad, maybe, but not surprised. Not angry at the intrusion. “I’ll give it back,” he said, or thought he did. Everything was moving so damned slow around him, like he was wading through a still frame.

He didn’t think he was alone in his head, but whoever it was, they were just along for the ride.
Udrai? That you?

No answer, but it
felt
right. One smartass recognizing another. “Watch this,” he told the god, and strode over to meet the necromancer as he crossed the threshold into the bedroom.

Val lost her fight. She roared and flew at Lia.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

West didn’t see Chaz coming. He was too busy watching the tableau of Elly, Justin, and Cavale at his feet. His skin had gone grey, the corners of his mouth tinged with dried, rusty blood he hadn’t wiped away after a recent coughing fit. His bluish lips flickered into a small smile as the vampires danced to his tune.

“Hey,” said Chaz, grabbing him by the shoulder and making him
look
.

He brought the keris blade up. He touched it to the man’s throat, watched West’s eyes widen in surprise. “Fuck you, buddy,” Chaz said, and
sliced
.

The keris sang with it, the first drops of blood disappearing into the wavy blade before it began to gush. The necromancer dropped to his knees, trying to speak, to form a spell, but all that came out were gurgles.

Something hit Chaz from behind.

The wind went out of his lungs as arms snaked around him. He saw the spill of Val’s red hair, felt her fangs at his throat. Justin was up, too, lurching toward him despite the spike sticking out of him.

Then West thudded forward, face-first on the carpet.

Val said, “Oh God,” and let Chaz go, backing away in horror. At the same moment Justin collapsed to the floor and groaned. Cavale hadn’t hit his heart with the spike, but a wound like that, he had to be in a lot of pain.

It was Udrai who pulled the spike
out
of Justin’s shoulder. Chaz hadn’t seen him come in, not from the balcony, not from the bedroom door; but then again, he was feeling fairly numb himself as he stared at the necromancer’s body.
I did that. Me.

He was going to kill them all.

I did that.

“Good job, there,” said Udrai. He leaned over the body, dabbed his hands in the dead man’s blood, and rubbed them together like he was washing up for Sunday dinner. The blood seeped in.

It wasn’t that he changed in any visible way. Udrai was still a short bearded man with curly salt-and-pepper hair and brown skin, wearing slacks and a sweater that wouldn’t be out of place in an office. Still, he seemed . . . more
present
, more
real
. And though his stature wasn’t very big, the spacious room felt awfully crowded with him in it. “Ohhhh, that feels nice,” he said. He flexed his fingers and looked over at where Elly lay, her color gone grey and waxy. “Now, young lady, I believe we had a deal.”

Cavale made room for him as he leaned down and touched her side. The warlock’s face was haggard, lined like he’d already started mourning her. Probably had. Probably never stopped, even after she woke up at the hospital. When Udrai pulled his hand away, Elly’s skin was mostly smooth, except for a small scar that twisted its way along. “She’s gonna have to take it easy for a bit,” he told Cavale. “I’m still not at a hundred percent. But she’s not dying anymore.”

Elly stirred in Cavale’s arms, then bolted upright. Or tried to, before Cavale caught her shoulders. “Shhh,” he said, murmuring softly until she focused on his face. “Everyone’s all right. Everyone’s safe.”

“But I didn’t . . . The necromancer.” She twisted around despite Cavale’s protests. When she saw the body a few feet away, the blood soaking into the carpet, she said, “Oh.” And, “But who . . . ?”

Both Cavale and Udrai looked to Chaz. Elly followed their gazes. Chaz caught the little double take, the way she looked at her brother and the death god again to make sure she was seeing that right. “I know, right?” said Chaz, forcing a jollity to his voice he certainly didn’t feel. “Last one of us you’d have pegged for . . .” He lost steam, heard how fake he sounded. “For that.”

Udrai broke the awkward pause that followed, pushing himself up with a groan. On his way to Chaz, he stopped and peered down at the bloody spike he’d pulled out of Justin. “That’s rough, kiddo. Gonna leave a mark, but you’ll be okay. Chicks dig guys with battle wounds.” Justin gaped at him. Chaz couldn’t blame him; what
did
you say to the god offering a post-trauma pep talk?

Then Udrai was grinning up at Chaz. “I meant it, good work. And thanks for the ride. You, uh, ever need anything, you know how to find me now.” He clapped Chaz on the shoulder, tipped an imaginary hat to Sunny and Lia—“Ladies”—ambled out onto the balcony, and was gone.

Lia came and pried her dagger from Chaz’ fingers. She stood and waited, not speaking, not touching him. Whether it was her succubus instincts at play, or simply knowing what he needed—or didn’t—right then, Chaz appreciated it. If she’d reached out, he might have flinched. He might have screamed. He might have burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” he said, when he figured out how to make his mouth work again. “I know they’re . . . sacred somehow. The blades. If I fucked up their mojo, uh.”
Fucked it up by killing a guy, let’s not forget.

She shook her head. “You did what you had to. Her sisters are jealous, but they’ll get over it.” She sheathed the knife, where it sat smoking just a bit more enthusiastically than its peers.

Sunny appeared at Lia’s side, slipping an arm around her waist.
Do either of them know how close they were to biting it just now?
“Chaz, if you need to talk about what happened . . .”

About killing a man. About opening his throat and letting his life spill out. About that, Sunny?
But he forced a smile. “I’m okay. But I know where I can find a good shrink if I need one, yeah?” She nodded. “Got something more important right now.” He felt their eyes on him as he walked away. Pitying. Worried for him. He shook off the cry of frustration that rose in his throat.
Poor fragile Chaz, let’s all fret about him now. Clearly he doesn’t know how to handle killing a dude.

He paused, took a deep breath.
Stop it. They’re only doing what friends do.