Spellbound (47 page)

Desperate, Francis turned his attention back to the spell. Time was up. He had to make this damned thing work or else.

The rat scurried up the conduit, forced its head through a tiny crack in the wall, and then pulled its body through behind. Lance knew that anything its skull could fit through, the body could be forced to follow. All of God’s creatures, even the utterly disgusting ones, were amazing. He was tracking the gasoline stink of the engine. The generator was close. He could feel the vibration through his feet. More twists and turns took him through walls and behind panels.

The generator room was illuminated by a single light. There was no smell of danger, though the corners were cloaked in shadows. The rodent tumbled through the last hole, dropped several feet to hit the hard floor, and immediately scampered toward the engine.
Pick some wires. Chew till something breaks.
Get the hell out of here.

The rat didn’t even hear the tiny demon until it was too late. A black claw pierced the rat’s body and pinned it to the floor.

Crow’s modest apartment overlooked the Potomac. Though he couldn’t even see Mason Island from here, he’d parked his chair right next to the window anyway. A smile creased his face as his distant minor Summoned destroyed the intruder in the generator room. He’d figured they’d try to kill the main Dymaxion somehow.

He released the demon from his control and let it fade from reality. By the time the demon had drifted into smoke, Crow was entirely back in his own body. The little ones didn’t take much consciousness to control, so within seconds he was in full possession of his limited human faculties and could again feel all the weakness and fragility of the body he’d been born with. Since he’d received the Doctor’s spell, he’d been spending less and less time in that body every day, just returning to it often enough to keep it fed and cleaned. Returning to his real body always seemed like such a waste.

The telephone was waiting on the stand next to him. The line had already been prepared to go directly to OCI headquarters and all he had to do was push a button to be patched through. Someone picked up on the other end immediately. “This is Crow. Intruders are on the island. Lock it down. Prep Stuyvesant and Koenig for transport. I’ll be there in a minute.” He returned the handset to the cradle.

This was a special occasion. It was almost like picking which tie to wear before that special date with a sweet young thing you really wanted to impress. He was eager to kill these Grimnoir, so only one of his finest demons would do. The one that he’d used in Oklahoma was the strongest he’d ever attempted to control, and that had turned out dicey. He’d lost control and embarrassed the OCI last time. Since the boss was going to be at the scene, he’d better play it low key and Summon something a little tamer.

But Crow hesitated. Something was eating at the back of his mind.
Screw Doc Carr. I know what I’m doing.
He’d Summon the same demon that he’d used in Oklahoma. If the Traveler girl was going to be there, the ram-horned demon deserved another shot at her. Its spirit had been out here sulking since it had been defeated last time. It was only fair.

The ram-horned demon wasn’t the greatest that Crow had ever found, just the greatest that he’d ever attempted to bring over to the real world. He’d sensed a few others out there, floating in the between place that only Finders and Summoners could reach. Those were bigger, older, even stronger, just waiting to be given form. Their spirits dwarfed all the others, so epic that he hadn’t even been able to recognize them as actual entities before the Doctor had magnified his Power. These things had been the top of the food chain on the dead world that the Summoned originally hailed from. It was really tempting to try one of those on for size. To be able to have a body like that . . .

Better safe than sorry. Ram-horn will do for now. I’ll work up to one of those big boys eventually.
Crow reached deep inside, fired up his Power, and called for his servant.

The tiger’s sudden roar caused Sullivan to fall over on his backside into the mud. The gigantic feline took a step toward him. Surprised, he jerked the BAR up and got ready to shred the cat.

“Lance! What’re you doing?” Sullivan hissed.

“Got speared by a demon.” The tiger rapidly shook its head as if it were distracted by pain. “They know we’re here.” The tiger leapt away and disappeared into the trees.

Sullivan got out of the mud and hurried for the compound. Active or not, it was now or never. Ahead, the shape of the wall appeared ahead through the trees. The only gate was on the south side facing the bridge. There was no entrance here on the north side, so they’d planned on making their own. Hoover’s intel said that it was twelve feet tall, made of bricks, with a single tower overlooking it, and there was an open space of about fifty feet where the trees had been cut away for visibility. All of that was good useful information.

However, the intel hadn’t specified that there was a walkway on the other side, so that men could peer over the top to shoot at them.

He’d almost reached the clearing when brilliant floodlights switched on, bathing the trees in light. “Everybody down!” Sullivan shouted as he slid behind a fallen log. He shouldered the BAR and the front sight appeared as a gigantic black triangle before the light. The Maxim silencer absorbed most of the noise, and he was rewarded with shattering glass and darkness. He swept over and took out another one of the floodlights before someone on the wall returned fire. Sullivan calmly got as low as he could as machine gun fire ripped the log to splinters above his head.

Toru dove into the bushes off to the side and crawled behind a mound of solid dirt. He leaned out and worked his machine gun across the top of the wall. Somewhere inside the OCI compound a man cried out in pain and another light went out. A Thompson roared far to the left as Diamond’s men joined the attack. Within seconds, seven automatic weapons were peppering the fortifications and smashing brick into dust.

“Ian!” Sullivan bellowed at the top of his lungs. The plan hadn’t changed, they just had to do it while getting shot at was all. “Make us a door!” Then he went over the log and emptied the rest of his magazine into the watchtower. “Toru, hit that tower.”

Between the two of them, the wooden structure was absolutely riddled with bullets. The guards’ shadows jerked and twitched. A red mist hung in front of the watchtower’s spotlight for an instant before it too was broken. Gun empty, Sullivan ducked back down. He barely had time to see a body sag against the railing, flip over the edge, and tumble from sight. The tower was out of the picture.

Deprived of targets, the fire from Diamond’s side tapered off. Toru pulled back behind cover to reload. The Iron Guard’s teeth were visible in the dark as he smiled. “It seems they did not expect that level of response.”

“Too easy.”

“Agreed. Expect trouble.”

He raised his voice. “Anyone hit?” Sullivan counted the shouts back. Nobody was down. If there were more OCI on the wall, they were staying concealed. “Hurry it up, Ian.”

“On the way.”

A pale glow appeared in the forest back the way they’d come from. The soft ground began to rumble with ponderous footsteps as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Ian’s Summoned was coming. “Cover that monster!” Sullivan’s command was echoed a moment later as Diamond repeated the order to his men.

BAR reloaded, Sullivan watched the wall, but no targets appeared. A dark spot that could only be an arm dangled limply over the side, but other than that there was no sign of the OCI. The rhythmic rumble increased as the Summoned neared. It crashed haphazardly through the brush, breaking smaller trees and pushing medium-sized ones over. The Summoned was only a few yards away when it passed by, the color of the full moon, vast, four eyes glowing red. It looked clumsy, with a great big body, oversized arms, and stubby little legs driving it relentlessly forward, but it was gaining speed as it charged the wall.

Someone in the OCI realized what was coming and shouts could be heard on the other side. Shadows appeared as a few guards risked peeks over the wall. The Grimnoir immediately began shooting at anything that moved. A few of the OCI got shots off before they were driven out of sight. Bullets puckered through the Summoned’s doughy flesh, hissing smoke, but it wasn’t nearly enough to slow the mighty beast.

The Summoned lowered its formless head, ducked a shoulder, and hit the wall with a terrible crash. The bricks cracked, split, and the whole wall shuddered. Men cried out as they were flung from the walkway. The Summoned kept on pushing, stubby legs throwing up plumes of dirt, and the wall began to fall apart. The pale glow momentarily disappeared in a cloud of red dust as stones crashed and broke.

The Grimnoir began to cheer.

When the dust cleared, the Summoned was standing before a huge gash in the wall.

They had their entrance.
“Follow me.” Sullivan shouted as he vaulted over the log.

“Halt,” the Iron Guard ordered. “Incoming.”

Sullivan froze at the sound of leathery wings. Something passed overhead and blocked the stars, then the wings folded in and a bolt of black fell from the sky, whistling through the air. It hit the ground next to Ian’s Summoned in an explosion of soft earth. Sullivan covered his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and bits of brick.

Something massive shot from the hole toward Ian’s creature. The pale Summoned spun toward the new arrival, only to have four awful lacerations rip through its chest in an explosion of ink. It crashed backwards, tearing down an even wider chunk of wall, and was quickly covered in tumbling bricks.

Lowering the gigantic claw that it had used to effortlessly tear through the Summoned, the new demon slowly turned to face them. It was humanoid, mostly, blacker than the night and nearly as tall as what was left of the crumbling compound wall. A bank of four red eyes watched them from under a heavy brow of bone. Ram’s horns curled around each side of the misshapen skull.

It was the most impressive demon Sullivan had ever seen. Bigger than the one that had killed General Roosevelt in the war, bigger than the Bull King from Mar Pacifica, and that one had soaked up a burst from a .50 Caliber like it was nothing. Sure, bullets would kill a greater Summoned eventually, but without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing without taking heavy causalities.

The demon grinned with a mouth full needles. “Heavy Jake Sullivan, I presume . . .” The horns dipped in recognition.

“Yep.” Sullivan said flatly. This had to be Crow. There was no use talking to this asshole. “And you must be—
Open fire!
”

Francis could barely hear the gunfire through the thick walls of his prison cell. He was focusing so hard on the spell that he’d drawn that it was making his eyes hurt, but he still couldn’t access his Power.

There was a clank and a clatter in the hall. They were unlocking his door.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

He could hear them now. “—and Griffin, take the rich guy first. He’s soft. The rest of us grab the German. That bastard’s a handful.”

The heavy door creaked open.

Francis swore at the design and cursed Buckminster Fuller to hell.
Why won’t you work? Damn it
! The OCI men came quickly into the room, but Francis was too busy to look at them. It was all there, bits and pieces, shapes and lines. Why did the Power have to be so damn complicated?

Rough hands grabbed hold of him. “Come quiet, Stuyvesant, or we’ll have to bust you up.” A key was inserted into one shackle and the lock clicked open. Pain flooded through his cramped arm, but Francis was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. The other wrist was freed and he was hauled to his feet.

From this angle the spell looked a little different. Obviously, he’d been stuck looking at it the same way the entire time, plus, from standing, Francis could see what he’d done wrong. Two of the lines hadn’t met completely!

“Come on—” The goon choked on the words as Francis slammed his elbow back hard. The other men standing in the doorway were taken by surprise. Francis shook free long enough to slug the second one in the mouth before he was tackled and dog-piled to the ground.

Don’t mess it up. Please, don’t mess it up.
Despite the weight on top of him, Francis struggled forward, got one hand free, stretched, and tried to complete the intersection. Then somebody had his legs and he was pulled across the floor on his face.
Did I get it?
He couldn’t see anymore, as he was now completely surrounded by OCI thugs. His hands were yanked behind his back and tied with cord. “Get off me, you rat bastards!”

Somebody punched him in the mouth. Someone else kicked hard in the stomach.

“Watch it, idiot. Can’t have him too beat up.”

“Thought you said he was soft,” gasped one man.

“Get them, Francis!” Heinrich shouted through the wall.

“Shut up, Kraut! Get him out of here. We’ll deal with that damned German.”

The last thing Francis heard was Heinrich shouting, “Come and try me,
Scheisskopf!”
before he was dragged into the hall with one man clamped onto each elbow. Four other OCI men followed them out into the hall, but they turned and went toward Heinrich’s door. Despite his thrashing, both of the guards were far bigger and stronger than he was and they merely pulled Francis along like an unruly child.

As they started up the stairs, Francis managed to crane his neck enough for one last look. The others were focused on Heinrich’s door, and they didn’t notice the shift in the shadows as some new source of light flickered through the open door of Francis’cell.

Francis experienced a momentary flash of excitement.

But nothing happened.

Then the OCI thugs pulled him up the stairs and his hopes were dashed.

Heinrich was ready as he could be. The unlocked shackles were resting on his freed wrists. Outnumbered and against an enemy prepared for a scrap, he would be at a disadvantage, but they would not be expecting him to have freed himself. The nails that Lance had slipped him were squeezed in one fist, just their points sticking past his knuckles. An advantage, any advantage, could be utilized to great effect, and surprise was one of Heinrich’s favorites.