Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four (13 page)

“I can’t wait—.” He’d already hung up.

I paced the hall between Honey’s kitchen and Arby’s bedroom, my gut twisting tighter with every step. They might already be dead. Or would the Fewkes keep them alive and sacrifice them on the altar?

Guilt tore at me. I’d thought we’d have more time. I really never imagined they’d come after Honey. And after ten years? This was insane.

The timetable had been moved up and we weren’t ready. We’d hadn’t planned on getting to the ritual site for at least another couple of hours. I called Rhys and told him what had happened. “The Sheriff has his hands full right now; we’re on our own, Rhys.”

“I’ll call Kevin and tell him,” he said. “I need to make a stop at Charlie’s, and then I’ll pick you up.”

“Charlie’s? What for? We agreed to keep him out of this.”

“We’re not going in there unarmed. We need weapons.”

“Guns won’t stop a demon.” I’d argued with him earlier, about the need for weapons at all. All we needed to do was to disrupt the ceremony. Whatever the cultists were dabbling in, they were human, and therefore protected by law. But that was before. Things had gone nasty in a hurry.

“I’m not talking about guns. Charlie has the key to the fun house.”

When Rhys had gone back to Scotland to close up his personal affairs, he’d run into a bit of trouble. A few of the druids took exception to his plans to leave the Order. When they tried to stop him, he escaped through the underworld, where they couldn’t follow. It was why he couldn’t call me when he was gone. He had stored some of his weapons and more precious possessions beneath the Fun House portal, where no mortal could reach them.

“You waited until now to get them?”

“The plan can still work, only the timeline has moved. Wait for me.” The stress in his voice made me realize how worried he really was.

“No can do, Rhys. I’ll meet you there.” I hung up and ran to my car. No point in arguing. It would take me almost an hour to get to the cemetery and hike in.

I hoped I wasn’t too late.

CHAPTER 17

A BARRICADE HAD been set up across the dirt track access road. Two guys stood guard. Not obviously armed, but I doubted I’d be able to get past them. I drove by without slowing, and a half-mile later, made a right-hand turn into the parking lot at Knutt’s Apple farm. The cider barn and farm market were already closed up for the night. A few pickup trucks were parked in the shadowy darkness at the far end of the lot.

A good sign. It looked like at least some of the werewolves had gotten the word. I parked my car next to them and set off through the dark trees, angling back toward where I knew the barbed-wire fence marked the back of the property line.

“Blix,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I summon you.”

My little djemon materialized on my left shoulder, and wrapped his tail around my neck for balance, his luminous eyes softly aglow. Djemons see perfectly well, even on the darkest nights. No moon tonight, but the sky was clear, and with the apple trees bare of leaves, the stars provided just enough light to see. Low areas in the orchard held the beginnings of ground fog, giving the scene an eerie feel. Earlier rains had softened the now-decaying carpet of leaves beneath my feet, muffling my footsteps.

 “Let me know if you see anybody, Blix.”

He nodded, his cheek next to mine. Blix wasn’t big or powerful enough to be much use if anyone came after me, but his superior senses would detect anyone hiding close by.

Somewhere up ahead was the crypt where I was supposed to meet up with Kevin, the bartender from Growlers, and an alpha for one of the local werewolf packs.

After what seemed like a very long hike, I reached the fence line marking the back of the apple farm. I had a moment of panic when I remembered that Rhys had the wire cutters, but Blix raced ahead of me and found the spot where the wolves had gone through. He led me straight to the gap beside a mounded pile of clothes and boots hidden beneath a leaf-strewn tarp.

 I stepped through gap and climbed up the steep hill which surrounded the cemetery. The still air carried no sound of chanting, as it had when Lou and I had been here previously. I took that as another good sign. They hadn’t started yet. Maybe Lou and Honey and Arby were still alive.

The crescent moon on the palm of my hand began to itch and glow.

Yeah, right.

I crested the hill behind a clump of shrubbery. I paused to catch my breath, using Master Foo’s breathing techniques. Cautiously, I peered over the bushes to get my bearings.

Oh man. The valley was completely filled with low fog which obliterated the cemetery. I couldn’t see a thing. Not even the vault where I was supposed to meet Kevin. From where I was, nothing looked familiar. I didn’t dare turn on the flashlight.

A cold nose touched my hand. I jumped, even as I’d half-expected it. Kevin had told me werewolves did not suffer from hunting lust on nights without a full moon, and therefore not as dangerous. I wasn’t so sure. The pale monster standing at my hip made me nervous. Bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. Its eyes reflected the pinpoints of starlight with a chilling amber glow.

It gave me a look that clearly said, follow me, and moved toward the fog.

I grabbed onto the shaggy fur at his neck and let him lead me, like a frikking blind woman, into the murk. The mist enveloped us with a clammy, greasy feel—definitely not natural. The stars disappeared—I couldn’t see any further than the wolf’s ears as he led me down the hill. When I slipped on the wet grass, he braced himself, and I leaned against him for support. The path he chose wove unerringly between the crumbled and toppled headstones.

By the time we neared the meet-up behind the crypt, the mist had thinned enough to see the ritual site. Within the circle itself, a ring of Tiki torches smoked and flickered, illuminating the scene. Thirteen hooded figures were positioned along the outline of a large pentagram. Only the faintest murmur of sound could be heard. I unfocused my vision, and cracked open the little door to Morta’s power inside my head. A vague, shimmery image surrounded the summoning circle. The chill of the vault cut through my leather jacket and I shivered—not wholly from the cold. There was no mistaking the scene below—it was the real deal. The ritual had already begun.

Three hooded figures patrolled the outside of the circle, carrying stun batons. They faced outward from the circle, toward the path that Lou and I had followed that first night. They were expecting trouble. The stun batons would incapacitate anyone who came within reach.

Kevin, wearing only a down parka and a pair of baggy sweatpants, pulled me into the deepest shadows of the vault. The earthy scent of pine and damp earth was strangely comforting. He introduced the white wolf as Silas, an alpha from outside the county who owed him a favor. “Where’s Rhys?” He asked.

“He’ll be here.”

“I don’t like this one bit,” he said. “You guys didn’t say anything about a kid.”

Kevin wasn’t kidding. There were now three altars lined up at the foot of the spirit tree where there had only been one before.

It broke my heart to see the three of them lined up on separate altars. Honey and Arby lay motionless. I prayed they weren’t dead. On the third altar, Lou was awake—trying unsuccessfully to rub his gag loose. All three had their hands bound with zip ties behind their backs. There was a deep-looking cut on Lou’s forehead, and his face was covered with dried blood; his body and cast were covered in mud. It looked like they’d dragged him to the altar from the car.

Arby lay on the center altar, his inert form surrounded by twelve wooden figures of varying sizes and complexity. Some were no bigger than my fist—crudely carved dowels with faces drawn on. Others looked like valuable antiques. I recognized the doll which had fallen from Liddy Fewkes’s bag and begged for Morta’s help. Twelve trapped souls and three live sacrifices. We’d been wrong in assuming the cult would need to obtain more souls to conduct the ritual—they must’ve been stockpiling them.

Silas perked his ears and chuffed.

 “I’m here,” Rhys said. “How many wolves do we have?”

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He’d traded in his usual leathers for some sort of scaled body armor—a kilt and breastplate with heavy leather braces and greaves. Rhys carried his great sword, which I had only seen once before, in a sheath strapped across his back, and a shorter sword belted at his waist.

“Five, including me and Silas,” answered Kevin.

“Here.” Rhys handed me a stiletto as long as my arm. “It’s the lightest blade I’ve got. It’s a Kinjali dagger, blessed by Morta herself.”

I hefted the weapon. This was no bamboo pole. Longer than my forearm, it felt surprisingly comfortable in my hand. The blade looked razor sharp.

“You keep it,” I gave it back to him. “I’d probably stab myself with that thing.” I slid the cool shears of the Hand of Fate into my hand and held them up to show him. “I’m better off with these.”

 “If you want to stop this, we can’t wait much longer,” Kevin said.

As one, all thirteen of the hooded figures pulled back their hoods, revealing themselves.

John Fewkes, the black sorcerer, stood at the center altar, while at his shoulder, his sister, Liddy, stood at the ready, holding three gleaming knives on a black tray. At a signal from Fewkes, the largest of the cultists approached Liddy and picked up a knife from the tray. He was built like a weight lifter, and completely bald—his scalp tattooed with strange, rune-like symbols. I did not recognize him. He moved to stand at the furthest altar, where Honey lay unconscious.

John took another of the knives from Liddy and held his arms above his head in apparent supplication, over the inert form of Arby, while Liddy took the third knife and took her place at the altar where Lou lay squirming. Although the buildup of power was palpable, we could not hear more than a murmur through the protective circle. The ten-inch blades gleamed in the torchlight like an evil promise.

Inside the circle, a flurry of swamp lights appeared from out of nowhere. They swarmed the tree, like maddened bees. Whatever doubts I’d had before, I knew Charlie had been right. Unless we stopped them, they intended to sacrifice Lou, Honey, and Arby to the Nalusa Falaya.

“Guys,” I said. “Now is the time. Now would be good.”

Kevin shook his head. “They won’t be able to hear us. The deal is off.”

In the eyes of the law, a lycanthrope’s actions and movements are strictly regulated, and killing a were in wolf form carries a lesser penalty than killing a real wolf. Any werewolf who threatens, attacks, or willingly transmits the virus to a human being is subject to immediate execution with extreme prejudice; no trial necessary. The only way Rhys and I had been able to convince Kevin and his friends to help us was by assuring them that all they had to do was to howl and show themselves at a distance—harass the coven just enough to distract them and disrupt the ritual.

“Come on, it could still work,” I said. “You can’t just let them kill three innocent people in cold blood.” I could hardly keep still for the need to act. My toes tapped a restless beat to drums only I could hear.

The problem was that the layers of power built up to keep the demon inside the circle worked both ways. They couldn’t hear us, so our plan to distract them with noise would not work. It would have to be something already inside the circle. My mind raced, seeking a solution.

Should have brought the flaming arrows, I mused. Louder and louder, the drums in my head sang while Rhys and Kevin argued.

Blix could materialize inside the circle, but what could he do? He didn’t have the size or strength to stop this show.

It would take something like Morta’s power to disrupt that summoning, and the only way to do it was from inside that circle. I let the drums fill me and flung open the door in my head. Morta’s golden light poured through me like adrenaline.
Come on, come on.

“I can’t stand this. I’ve got to get closer,” I said. “There’s got to be a way in.” Kevin and Rhys both eyed me warily. I pointed to the goons patrolling the outside of the circle. “We don’t need the wolves to distract the coven inside the circle. All we need is for them to distract those guards on the outside.”

“We can do that,” Kevin said. “But what’s the point?”

“Give us a couple minutes head start, then keep their attention focused on you for as long as you can.“

“What are you going to do?”

“We’re out of time. I’ve got to find a way to get inside that circle. We’ve got to do this now.”

I turned my back on them and started picking my way through the headstones as quickly as I could. Rhys was right beside me. There was a pretty good path between the headstones that we could follow around the hill to the back of the tree. If we kept low and quiet, the guards wouldn’t see us, and the torches inside the circle would keep the cultists from seeing us until it was too late.

I hoped.

We were less than a dozen steps from the tree when I heard the signal—a long, haunting howl that was immediately picked up and echoed by a quartet of answering howls, from all around us. Their song raised goose bumps up my arms.

CHAPTER 18

WOLVES RACED TOWARD the circle from the surrounding hills. Silent, streaking shadows moving so swiftly, they seemed an inky cloud spreading across the starlit landscape. And there were a lot more than five. At least fifty or more. Answering howls, hidden from view, echoed across the cemetery, their message clear—
we’re coming
.

Rhys and I had reached the outer edge of the circle—hidden from the coven by the massive trunk of the spirit tree. I chanced a quick peek around the edge to judge the coven’s reaction.

Nothing in their demeanor indicated that they were even aware of the wolves or Rhys and I. On the opposite side of the summoning circle, the three guards had seen the pack moving in. They stood side-by-side, facing the pack, their stun batons at the ready. Good. The distraction should give Rhys and me a chance.