Skeleton Crew (27 page)

Across the field, the demons raised a terrible cry, a discordant symphony of screams, shrieks, roars and stomach-turning moans that crawled along my spine to the base of my brain and flushed my body with cold, stark terror. It was the sound of all the worst things humans had ever imagined
waiting for them in dark places since they first dared to climb down from the trees.

Oberon tilted his head up to the sky as the rain began to fall, and the wind whipped his long, auburn hair around his face and shoulders. He began to glow, to shine, as if moonlight had been trapped beneath his skin and was straining to be free. The look on his face was rapturous, orgasmic, and his chant built and swelled with magic until the beautiful, secret words drowned out the demonic cacophony from the far side of the field.

A wave of crawlers raced forward, swarming across the grass and concrete toward us, and the glowering sky attacked. Jagged, crackling lines of blue-white lightning flashed down from the roiling clouds and caressed the scuttling crawlers almost gently, outlining them in fairy fire and reducing them instantly to smoking puddles of black tar. Only a handful made it through, and the sidhe warriors stepped forward to meet them, blades flashing and deadly glamours tearing into the crawlers like wild beasts.

“You're supposed to hit those guys with countermagic, first,” I said to Oberon. “You got to soften them up so they don't shrug off your spells.”

The fairy king laughed. “You ain't seen nothing yet,” he said. Oberon threw back his head and sang, and the sky growled like a belligerent animal in answer to him. A slender funnel cloud formed in the twisting gray blanket overhead and reached for the demon horde assembled below. The tornado split in two and then another uncoiled from the angry sky. Emerald light flashed within the three vortices, and when they touched the south end of Wilson Park, the twisters spat forth an airborne brigade of piskie warriors. The piskies swarmed over the demons and the red-orange pixie dust was so thick it looked like burning snowfall.

“My people,” Honey said. “We kick ass.”

“Join them, if you will,” Oberon said, inclining his head and raising his sword in salute. “Your House is pardoned and it is your right to stand with them. To war, Princess, and red glory!”

The blue war paint on Honey's face and body pulsed alight and green fire danced along the edge of her sword.

“Until death and darkness and the world's sorrow, my King,” she said, and then she was off, blazing across the field like an emerald comet falling into the sun.

“Yeah, Honey, don't let me hold you back,” I muttered.

Despite the piskies' ass-kicking prowess, the fire giants pressed forward, tromping across the field and churning the turf into mud. They were armed with an array of the Dark Ages' most advanced weaponry: massive black iron swords with serrated edges, spiked balls on the ends of heavy chains that looked like they could demolish a house, mauls the size of small trees. The twisters roared through their ranks, scattering earth, foliage and playground equipment, but the fire giants leaned forward into the storm and marched on.

“What else you got, Oberon?” I said. “We had trouble with one of these guys in the club, and there's six of them here.”

“Seven,” Terrence said. “There's another one behind that big guy.”

“They're all big guys, Terrence,” I said.

“The
really
big motherfucker with the big fucking ax.”

The figure striding across the field at the center of the giants' ranks towered over his fellows. He wore an ornate iron helm engraved with leaves and vines, and topped with a crown of fire that twined and branched like the antlers of a great stag. Flames burst from his eyes and from a mouth
that was nearly hidden in a full beard that wreathed his craggy face like a wild tangle of spun silver.

“Oh, him,” I said. “Is this guy someone we should know about, Oberon?”

The king shrugged. “Some lesser hero of the Fomoire. They have no shortage of them.”

“Lesser hero, huh? Dime a dozen. That's great.”

The Fomoiri hero roared a challenge and fire engulfed the front ranks of sidhe warriors. Defensive glamour flashed and glowed and most of the sidhe were spared. Some of them burned. A rumbling, baritone chant went up among the giants and rattled the windows of the VFW building below us. The giants began to run, and the earth trembled. I felt the tremors in the soles of my feet, thrumming bone-deep through my ankles and my legs.

Below, Ismail Akeem danced on Palmer Street, his thin body convulsing as he disgorged the spirits he had eaten.

Amy Chen released phantasmal beasts and monsters that drifted silently through the rank of charging giants, vanishing completely within the massive bodies when they darted in to strike at their relentless, unwavering quarry. When the fire giants were only a few strides away, the sidhe rushed forward and attacked, lashing out with spell and blade to savage the demons' deformed and burning flesh.

For a moment, it appeared the sorcerers and sidhe warriors would stop the charge and cut the Fomoire down where they stood. Then the giants' blows began to land, and sidhe blood and crushed bodies fell on the grass like detritus scattered by the tornadoes.

“Time to pay the rent,” Terrence said. He dropped a levitation spell and floated down to the street, and he was already spinning attack spells when his feet touched the
pavement. Adan flashed a fierce grin at me and then leaped down after him.

I'd have preferred to battle the Firstborn as I had in the Carnival Club—from the Between, and with Ned in my hands. I'd decided against it because I didn't want to leave my helpless body lying around anywhere close to the battlefield. I was pretty sure I couldn't hide so well that no demons would find me, and it would only take one to ruin my day.

On the other hand, I didn't really want to see a repeat performance of the slaughter at the club, multiplied by seven and not even counting the rest of the demons on the field.

I knew what they could do and I knew how effective our weapons and magic would be against them. The demons were relentless, unstoppable, and I did not believe we could stand against them.

That's why I came prepared to cheat. Mr. Clean's TV sat on the rooftop behind me. I wasn't planning to let the jinn have a piece of this fight, but I did need all the juice he could give me. I also carried the walking stick I'd taken from Papa Danwe when I killed him, for the same reason. I was physically recovered from what the demon had done to me on the bridge and I didn't need the stick to walk. I just needed the juice.

“Your first day of prison, they say you should find the biggest, baddest motherfucker on the cell block and take a shot at him,” I said. “Maybe you do a little damage, maybe not, but you prove you're not a punk and the rest of the convicts will leave you alone after that.”

“And that really works?” Oberon asked.

“No, it just means you get your ass kicked on the first day. The secret is, it's really for you—you prove to yourself
you're not a punk. After that, you can take your beatings and whatever else comes and you can hold your head up.”

Oberon nodded. “I believe it is the same at court.”

“Yeah, but there's less dancing in prison.” I raised my arms, with the walking stick in one hand and the other out stretched to the sky. I tapped juice from the street until my body burned with it and then I reached out with my mind and opened my familiar's veins, taking all he could give, as well.

I stepped forward to the edge of the building and pointed the walking stick at the Fomoiri hero. “Friends have all things in common,” I said, and a torrent of magic rushed out of me and coursed over and through him. It was a simple friendship charm, one of the first spells you learn as a kid to make your way through life a little easier than it is for other people. It was a simple spell, but it was backed with a lot of juice. A combat spell with that much magic behind it might have seriously wounded or even killed the Fomoiri.

One down, and then we'd just have six more fire giants and the rest of the demonic army to deal with.

The Fomoiri hero lifted his ax, a wicked implement more than ten feet long, and then he froze. He stood up straight, almost at attention, and stared at me as the sidhe warriors rained blows and lethal glamour upon him.

I pointed at another of the fire giants who spun a spiked ball and chain around his head before whipping it down upon the glowing, multicolored shield Amy Chen raised to defend herself. There was a blinding flash as the ball impacted the shield. Amy fell to her knees and the shield began to burn, orange flame devouring the colorful light until it dimmed and then extinguished.

“Kill,” I said. If I'd known the demon's name, I might
have been able to issue more elaborate orders. On the other hand, that might have just gotten me in trouble.

The Fomoiri hero turned and brought his ax down on the knobby skull of Amy's adversary. The blade cleaved through the giant's head and bit deeply into its torso. Fire and darkness billowed out of the terrible wound, and the demon collapsed into a pool of smoking tar that began to disintegrate and blow away on the driving wind.

“Kill,” I said, pointing to another demon. The Fomoiri spun the ax in his hands and buried the blade in the back of a giant that had grabbed Terrence in one massive, gnarled fist and was lifting him toward its fiery maw. The demon collapsed and disintegrated, and Terrence tumbled free, rolling to his feet and immediately spinning attack spells that tore into a giant that was hammering at Adan's defenses with a huge, two-handed hammer.

“How long can you keep this up?” Oberon asked. “Perhaps I can go for coffee.”

As if summoned by his words, a trio of crawlers scuttled over the edge of the building and leaped at us. They slammed into our protective circle and began clawing and tearing at it, struggling to squirm through the magic that held them at bay.

“Nice job,” I said, gritting my teeth against the burn of the juice racing through me. “Maybe you can keep these guys off me so I don't get defriended by the fucking Balrog, here.”

Oberon grinned and leaped forward, out of the circle, his silver sword spinning and thrusting at the attacking crawler demons. His sword didn't have much more of an immediate effect on them than my bullets had. Their inky, black flesh quivered and oozed around the blade, but golden light danced in the furrows and puckered holes the blade left in
its wake. The faceless demons screamed and scrambled away, only to regroup and scuttle toward the fairy king from three directions. Oberon blurred and his sword was a glowing, silver tracer in the air. Black tar spattered the rooftop as the crawlers fell beneath the blade.

Oberon's laughter carried on the wind. “They'll have to send better than these pathetic creatures if they wish to bring low the Lord of the Shining Host,” he shouted. I winced.

The thing that crawled onto the roof was like a giant centipede, which wouldn't have been so bad except that it was formed from the bodies of human children, one torso extending from the shoulders of the one before in a long, repulsive, fleshy chain. The chubby little arms served as the demon's legs, and they scrabbled furiously against the asphalt as the creature undulated across the rooftop. The demon's cherubic head was topped with golden curls, but the face was torn open and something insectile protruded from the torn, bloody mask.

“Discretion is the better part of keeping your fucking mouth shut, King.”

The front section of the demon rose up, baby arms waving, and the bug head made a wet chittering sound. The entire length of the creature's body convulsed and black fluid sprayed from the insectoid mouth. The fluid vaporized when it struck my protective circle, giving off an oily black smoke, but Oberon was covered in it from head to toe.

The king screamed and fell to his knees. His sword clattered to the rooftop as he clawed at the black fluid that sizzled on the exposed skin of his face. It ate away at the flesh and I could see bone glistening underneath.

“Oh, fuck me,” I said. “Hold the charm on the giant as long as you can, Mr. Clean.” I hefted the walking stick in
my hand and stepped out of the circle. I dropped a spell on the king to kill the hostile magic, and then I turned to the demon. I extended the juju stick and poured juice into it.

“Vi Victa Vis!” I shouted, and the demon swayed and nearly toppled onto its side as the force magic impacted the aesthetic travesty it called its head. It screamed, its voice that of a child in the throes of a tantrum, and it spat black fluid at me. I triggered my magical shield, and there was a flash of sapphire light as the acidic spittle vaporized against it.

This proved to be my one and only sucker punch, because the next few spells I threw its way rolled off it like rainwater from the Lincoln's hood after a good waxing. Flesh tore as insectile jaws extended farther from the human mask and snapped at me.

“Okay,” I said, “we'll do an old-school beat-down.” I triggered my jump spell and leaped over the demon, twisting in the air and smashing the walking stick's silver pommel down on the golden curls. The juice I channeled through it flashed with the impact, and it tore through the thin veil of skin and bone to burn the demon flesh beneath.

I landed in a crouch on the other side of the monster.

It reeled from the blow and then steadied itself. Its head whipped around and I heard that wet, chittering sound again. I hit my jump spell and leaped away as the black, acidic fluid sprayed across the rooftop.

“All movements go too far,” I said, but I didn't cast the telekinesis spell at the demon. I tore the large air-conditioning unit loose from the roof and hurled it at the creature. It tried to evade the improvised projectile, but its midsection was smashed and pinned against the asphalt by the heavy machinery. I poured juice into the telekine sis spell, pressing down on the air conditioner with all the
strength I could muster. I heard tiny bones snapping and the dry, brittle sound of chitin giving way.