Shadow Rising (19 page)

Camille and Morio intercepted the figure striding toward us, hand in hand, like some baleful Jack and Jill. The look on their faces was as frightening as our opponent. Camille raised her left hand, palm out, and Morio his right.

As they incanted their spell, their voices echoed through the room and the spirit roared. A gust of wind raced through, fighting against the mist, trying to drive it away.

But the shadow was strong and fought back, a coiling
serpent ready to strike. The spirit laughed again, but there was an edge to the laughter—tempered with a faint hint of fear. As the tension increased, a noise like a whistling of metal against air startled me. I turned in time to see a screwdriver spinning through the air, aimed at Camille’s heart.

She didn’t see it, so rapt was she in the magic, and neither did Morio.

I screamed and launched myself, flipping head over heels to land in the path of the screwdriver. It struck me in the shoulder, driving me forward as I careened into Camille and Morio. Camille shrieked as they broke the spell and fell backward. I yanked the screwdriver out of my shoulder, a slow burble of blood following. Vampires bleed very slowly, if they’ve not been hit in the heart and dusted, and my wound hurt like hell but started to close immediately. I whirled, turning on the spirit that was still bearing down.

Their spell might be broken, but the results held. Now we could see the spirit in his entirety. He was male, about fifty, wearing a top hat and tails and a pair of dress trousers. His hair was shoulder length and straggly, and a leer on his face made me terribly nervous. I couldn’t figure out why, and then it hit me. He had the same cold avarice that Dredge had. This man…spirit…had been a sadist. He was a
mean
son of a bitch. And death had not changed his nature.

He didn’t stop but strode toward me. “Little girl. You’re going to die.” His voice was the voice of a hundred empty husks blowing on the wind. As his eyes lit up with delight, he reached out his hand toward me and a jolt ran through me, picking me up to send me sailing across the room.

I slammed against the bloody wall near Chase and the Liebmans. As I slid to the ground, I quickly ran my hand through the blood and brought it to my lips, tasting just a single drop, but not swallowing it.

“That’s not blood! I don’t know what it is, but it’s not blood.” I eyed the spirit, wondering how the hell to engage him. He hadn’t hit me with anything physical, and I wasn’t sure I could attack him.

Camille and Morio were back on their feet, and they clasped hands once again. The hairs on the back of my neck
stood up. They were up to something and all I could think was,
Get the fuck out of Dodge
. I backed out of the way as they headed toward the spirit, heads down, gazes locked.

The spirit ignored me and went for them.

Abby screamed as a huge bronze framed painting that was resting on the mantel flew off and spun through the room at them, at a dizzying speed. Morio and Camille raised their joined hands and the picture bounced away, as if it had hit an invisible wall. It crashed to the floor nearby, the frame and glass splintering.

“Leave this house!” The spirit spoke again, his words echoing through the room. The lights began to flicker on and off, creating a strobe effect, and Fritz cried out and tried to cover Abby’s eyes.

“Close your eyes!” He looked terrified. Abby was staring at the strobing lights, and a glint around her neck told me she was wearing a medic alert pendant.

Fuck.
Epilepsy!
I dashed around back of Morio and Camille, over to where Chase was trying to protect Fritz and Abby. Rozurial was fiddling with another one of his homemade bombs and turned, suddenly, sending it reeling toward the door. It exploded, shaking the house, and an odd rosy light appeared.

“Get them through! The ghost won’t be able to follow you for a few!” He turned back to the spirit and raced forward, not getting in the way of Camille and Morio, but pulling out a bottle of water as he ran.

I didn’t question, I just did. I swept Abby into my arms before she seized and motioned for Fritz to follow me. Chase pushed Fritz to get him moving, and at first I thought the detective was going to come with us, but he didn’t. I didn’t have time to get him out, too.

Fritz tried to yank open the front door but it wouldn’t budge, so I slid Abby into his arms—she’d gone immobile— and turned back to the door. With one swift kick, I broke the lock and the doors swung open.

I took Abby from him again and ran through the door, followed by Fritz. Leaping, I cleared the porch and steps, landing on the sidewalk below. As I raced across the drive, Abby in
my arms, a scream cut through the night. I turned around in time to see hands reaching through holes in the porch. They had hold of Fritz’s legs. He was fighting them, trying to get away.

Opening my Jag, I laid Abby in the backseat, closing the door before I ran back to the porch.

Fritz was being pulled down into a swirling vortex that looked suspiciously like a portal, except that it felt different from any I’d encountered.

He held out his arms, grimacing. “They’re hurting me!”

At that point, I saw that the arms reaching through the floorboards were taloned. Blood was staining his jeans. I leaped onto the railing, balancing as I tried to figure out what to do. If I stepped onto the porch, I’d be caught in the same mire. But there was no time to make plans, so I reached out, grabbing for his hand, and he held tight to my wrist as I pulled.

Whatever was on the other end was pulling just as strongly, and I had a horrible feeling I was going to lose him as I struggled to retain my balance, poised on the three-inch-wide beam that was the railing.

Just then, Chase appeared at the edge of the doorway. He stared at Fritz for a moment. Then, reality blurred and I thought I could see two Chases—one watching his friend get sucked down to his death. The other stepped out of his body and dove below the surface of the porch. I couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was doing, but the next thing I knew, the creatures’ grasps lessened and I gave one strong yank and pulled Fritz up and over the railing.

As we teetered on the edge and then fell to the ground, the “other” Chase returned to his body, and he gave me a thumbs-up and turned back to whatever was going on inside.

I helped a limping Fritz over to my car and bundled him into the driver’s seat. “You know where the FH-CSI is?”

He nodded, stuttering as he tried to get out a “Y.. ye…yes…”

I pressed my fingers to his lips. “Shh…Here are my keys. Start the car and get your asses over there now. Ask for Sharah. Tell her exactly what went on here tonight. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

As he started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway, I steeled myself, then turned back to the house. Whatever was going on in there, they needed me. And even though I really didn’t want to go back in, I made a running leap and, when I landed on the top step of the porch, flipped over the floorboards and managed to careen my way through the open doors.

The whole house had gone psycho. And by that, I do mean the
house
. The walls were oozing with the bloodlike substance, and as I watched, large black scrawls of some language appeared across the ceiling, as if from some invisible charcoal pencil. There was a sickly green light flickering from within the living room, and, as much as I didn’t want to, I ran headlong into the fray.

As I crossed the threshold, it was as if I’d entered a house of mirrors. The walls were distorted, and everything had a blurry look about it. I squinted, trying to clear my sight.

Morio and Camille were raising a circle of mist around them—it glittered and sparked and was thoroughly suffocating, making me glad I didn’t have to breathe. Over in one corner, Chase was trying to coax someone out of a closet, and in another corner, Roz was plastered four feet up against the wall, arms and legs spread, unable to move.

The spirit had grown larger, looking more demonic, and I edged around to the side as he focused on Camille and Morio. They were headed toward him and he was waiting. But standing behind him stood a young girl. She must have been nine or ten, and she was holding a torn doll and weeping as she stared up at him, a mask of fear covering her face.

Who the hell was
she
and how had she gotten in here? I was about ready to skirt around him in order to get to her when I realized that I could see the chair on the other side of her—right through her body. Translucent and misty, she must also be a ghost. I edged a little farther beyond him, enough to see that an energy cord of the sickly green light ran from his tailbone to her, coiling around her neck. The bastard was keeping her tied to him!

I glanced at Camille—how to let her know about the girl’s spirit without disturbing her concentration on whatever spell they were conjuring up? There was no good way and I didn’t dare interrupt them.

But then, I knew what I had to do. I hurried over to Chase. He was peering into a closet, trying to coax someone out. I glanced over his shoulder and saw the vague outline of another child—a little boy. He, too, looked horrified, but he was only about four, and a sickening thud hit my stomach.

“Chase, I need you to come—maybe you can do something.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me. The spirit who was making a beeline for Camille and Morio ignored us as we passed by. He was gearing up to do something awful, and I didn’t want to be in my sister’s shoes when he let loose.

“What is it?” Chase stopped short when the little girl came into view.
“Oh no.”

“He’s tied her spirit to his. Can you do anything?” I had no idea why I thought he might be able to help, but something inside urged me to let him try.

Chase licked his lips as he stared at the girl. “I might. But you have to be ready.”

“Ready to do what?”

“When I give the word, throw yourself between the spirit and her. Are you willing to do that? It could be deadly.” He looked frightened, but I could read the determination in his eyes. Chase hated it when anybody hurt a child—be the attacker corporeal or spirit.

I nodded. “Yeah. Go for it.”

Chase reached out to the little girl. A flicker of energy oozed out from his hands, and the girl turned toward him, eyes wide. She reached out to him, then opened her mouth. A haunting scream echoed through the room.

The spirit, startled, whirled around. When he saw what Chase was doing, he roared—his anger shook the room, and pens and pencils and the cookie plate and anything else that wasn’t nailed down started flying through the air.

Camille and Morio began a low incantation, driving forward as if they were plowing through a whirlwind or
hurricane, one step at a time, their palms out, energy crackling before them.

A shriek caught me off guard. I stumbled back, turning to see Roz, still pinned to the wall, but now a knife was lodged in his shoulder.

I raced over to him and levitated up to eye level. As I grabbed the hilt—it was a kitchen knife, like a serrated tomato knife—and yanked, he let out a curse and I stuck the knife in my belt, not wanting it to become airborne again. I tried to pry him off the wall, but to no avail. Blood fountained from his wound but it wasn’t in a vital area and, while it might sting, right now it didn’t put him in danger. But if anything else aimed itself for him, he could be spitted like a rotisserie chicken.

Torn—Roz needed me to protect him, but the spirit was bearing down on Chase—I tried to weigh where I was needed most.

“Go, Chase needs you!” Roz struggled to move his head. “Menolly, you know he can’t fight that creature!”

I glanced around. Things were still flying through the air, but Roz was right. Chase was the most vulnerable. I nodded and, wishing I could be in two places at once, raced back to Chase’s side.

He and the ghost were playing tug-of-war with the girl’s spirit, dragging her back and forth. She was crying, but no sound escaped her lips. I landed by Chase just in time to see a chair come flying across the room at him. I couldn’t intervene directly—the legs were pointed in our direction and one wrong placement and I’d have a stake through the heart. So I dove for the detective, taking him down to sprawl on the floor.

His grasp on the girl broke and the spirit reared up again, his laughter shaking the walls. He lunged for the girl, a lecherous look in his eye, but at that moment, Camille and Morio sent a bolt of energy into him.

A fiery glowing sigil appeared in the air, crackling as it burned with a bright purple flame. A thousand howls of anger came rushing through the rune, and then a black, shadowy arrow broke through, aimed for the heart of the spirit. It pierced his back, driving through to the other side.

Camille made a sign with her free hand. The arrow developed barbs and as she jerked her hand backward, the barbs caught hold of the spirit’s ethereal body and dragged him away from us.

Morio, grinning fiercely, drew another rune in the air with his right hand and it circled around the little girl, severing her connection with the spirit. She went rebounding back, hiding her face.

The arrow quivered and sparkled with the violent flames. And then—as the spirit let out an angry, frightened roar—the arrow exploded, taking him with it. A shower of sparks rained over the room, and the smell of ozone hissed and popped.

Our opponent was gone.

We stood there, staring at the devastated living room. Roz fell to the floor, along with everything else that had been hovering in the air.

The little girl looked up, fear filling her face, but then she saw that the man was gone and slowly walked forward. She cocked her head, looking first at Morio and Camille, then at me. Then she turned to Roz and regarded him with a serious look.