Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us (15 page)

Paul tied the lock of hair about the trinket in the shape of a figure eight lying on its side, the symbol for infinity. Then he looked at Katherine, a question, almost a plea, in his eyes.

She shrugged and said, “Are you as scared as me?”

“What do you think?” he said. H lifted the charm to his lips and spit on it, then carefully laid it on David’s chest.

Katherine wasn’t prepared for what happened, which was nothing. Just plain nothing. No arcane power filled the room. The demon essence surrounding the little boy didn’t cry out in agony, or disappear or react in any way. Nothing.

“Gramma! Gramma!”

Katherine heard the words only in her soul. They were not words spoken by a mortal mouth, but they did sound like the voice of a young boy.

Mrs. Garza looked down at her side, and Katherine sensed something there, something invisible to her eyes and other senses. “David,” the old woman said, and she knelt, wrapping her arms around something.

Paul gasped. “Do you see him? It’s young David, or at least his spirit.”

Katherine said, “I don’t see it, but I sense something.”

Paul walked around the bed to stand beside Mrs. Garza. Katherine followed him, watched him look in awe at something beside the old woman.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Eric snarled.

Katherine spun back toward him, saw him standing over the bed. He lifted a hand to his mouth, spit into it, reached out, and as Katherine shouted, “No,” he dropped a charm into the oily corruption on David’s chest. With her
sight
still active Katherine saw a line of arcane energies connecting his hand to the charm like a tether. Unaware of it, he turned his head toward her. “Someone had to do this right.”

He wasn’t yet conscious of the line connecting him to the charm, but Katherine watched the dark essence of the demon crawl slowly up that line toward his hand. When it had tried to climb up Paul’s arm something had stopped it, but that didn’t happen now with Eric. When it reached his hand, only then did he sense it, and by the time he lifted his hand to his face and opened his
sight
, it had crawled up his arm to his elbow.

“Get it off me,” he shouted. “No! No! Get it off me.”

One of the leprechauns popped into existence next to Mrs. Garza, and the other appeared at David’s bedside. Katherine felt a sudden weight in her left hand, looked down to find it holding the sheathed sword. From past experience that meant something really bad was about to happen.

Reichart, pleading and sobbing like a child, fell to his knees as the corruption slowly crawled off of little David, clawed its way along the tether of arcane energies to Reichart’s hand, then up his arm, down his chest and around his head. It completely engulfed him, leaving young David cleansed and free of the taint.

Eric opened his mouth to scream, but the black taint wrapped about him disappeared into him. Then he laughed maniacally, and when Katherine looked at him he looked back at her through blood-red goat-slitted eyes.

~~~

Paul knelt down beside Mrs. Garza as she caressed the specter of her grandson, hoping this didn’t mean the boy was dead. And then Katherine shouted, “No.”

He spun toward her, then spun to follow her gaze to Reichart, who was wholly engulfed in the black corruption. Reichart dropped to his knees, threw his head back and wailed like a wounded animal. Then, with a whoosh, the wisps of oily black smoke disappeared up his nose, down his throat, into his eyes and ears, and right up his ass.

Reichart’s wails ceased, he looked at Katherine with blood-red goat-slitted eyes, then he looked at his hands and laughed maniacally. He stood, turned to the Garza boy laying in his bed, and bent over him.

Jim’Jiminie, standing next to Mrs. Garza, shouted, “I’ll protect the woman.”

Boo’Diddle, standing at David’s bedside, shouted, “Stop Reichart.”

Paul shot to his feet and charged, hit Reichart with a shoulder tackle and they both tumbled across the bed to the other side. They hit the floor in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Paul tried to struggle to his feet, but with inhuman speed and strength, Reichart stood, wrapped his hands about Paul’s throat and lifted him to his feet. Then he lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall.

Holding Paul with his feet a good six inches off the floor, Reichart leaned in close to him and snarled, “You think you can fuck with me, mortal.” Reichart’s breath smelled of sewage and decay.

Over Reichart’s shoulder Paul saw Katherine scramble around the bed, the sheathed sword held out. “Paul,” she screamed. “Use this. I can’t. I’m not the wielder.”

Reichart snarled, slammed Paul’s head against the wall, and squeezed down on his throat with crushing force. Strange little motes of unconsciousness danced before his eyes as Katherine slammed into Reichart’s back with a shoulder block of her own. She bounced off him like she’d tried to run into a brick wall. Dazed, she stood there for a moment.

Reichart let go of Paul’s throat with one hand, spun and backhanded her. She went down hard, and Reichart returned to crushing Paul’s throat. The view over Reichart’s shoulder grew distant and far away. Mrs. Garza and Jim’Jiminie crossed the room purposefully and helped Katherine struggle to her feet. She couldn’t stand on her own and needed help from Mrs. Garza, while Jim’Jiminie supported them both. Katherine staggered like a drunk, a stream of blood dripping from her nose and down her chin, a wild, crazed look in her eyes, her hair in disarray. She lifted the sheathed sword in front of her to look at it dazedly.

Paul looked into Reichart’s demon eyes, looked into their depths, saw the scared little boy that was Eric Reichart trying to hide from his own terror, saw the remnant of the demon chasing him through the corridors of his soul, actually felt sorry for the asshole. Operating purely on instinct, Paul called after the demon with an arcane shout, “Pick on someone your own size, shithead.”

The demon turned its eyes back to Paul, and Paul broke eye contact with it just in time to see Katherine shake her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She looked at Paul, then at Reichart, then growled, “Fuck it.”

Mrs. Garza helped her lift the sheathed sword over her right shoulder, holding it in both hands like a battering ram, the hilt aimed at the back of Reichart’s head. Then the two of them charged forward with the leprechaun in their wake. At the last instant Katherine screamed, “You ass hole,” and slammed the hilt into Reichart’s head.

~~~

When Paul activated the spell they’d worked out, old man McGowan sensed the presence enter the room. He couldn’t see it, but apparently Paul and Mrs. Garza could. Mrs. Garza knelt, appeared to be caressing something.

Beside him, Colleen said, “Something’s about to happen. I can feel it.”

Paul walked around the bed and approached Mrs. Garza carefully. He knelt beside her, and only when Katherine screamed did McGowan realize they’d forgotten about that shit Reichart. McGowan looked Reichart’s way just in time to see him activate his spell and drop it on the boy’s chest. And in that instant they all disappeared: Reichart, Paul, Katherine and Mrs. Garza.

“What just happened?” Colleen demanded.

McGowan shook his head in bewilderment. “I think the shit just hit the fan.”

They both advanced carefully toward the boy’s bed, but they’d only taken a few steps when a blinding flash filled the room. McGowan was left with an image burned on his retina of Reichart holding Paul by his throat with his feet off the ground, Paul’s face turning blue as Reichart crushed the life out of him, Katherine and Mrs. Garza behind Reichart holding something over Katherine’s shoulder, something that had made contact with the back of Reichart’s head, and it was from the point of that contact that the flash had emanated.

The flash had blinded them, and McGowan and Colleen could only make out gross details for several seconds. Then everyone else rushed into the room and pandemonium erupted in shouts and curses as they tried to sort things out.

~~~

Paul smelled Katherine’s perfume, and he realized he lay on the floor with her in his arms, his face buried in her hair. In the background he heard a lot of shouting. He whispered, “I’m getting tired of getting beat up like this.”

She didn’t respond, probably unconscious, so he added, “Though I guess I don’t mind waking up with you in my arms.”

“I heard that, Conklin, you lecher.” Her voice was thick and muzzy. She moved a little, though she didn’t seem in any hurry to escape his arms. “You better not have ruined more shoes.”

Someone said, “Let’s make sure they’re not seriously hurt.” It sounded like McGowan.

Paul, Katherine and Reichart were in no shape to walk on their own. They got them into the Garza’s living room, sat them down on couches and chairs and checked their injuries, with everyone shouting at once, demanding to know what had happened.

“What about the boy?” Paul asked.

Raphael said, “My mother says he came to, though he’s tired and scared. But she says he’ll be ok. Thank you.”

The room was filled with a terrible stench. Paul said, “I still smell demon stink.”

McGowan curled his nose. “Ya, something stinks, but it ain’t demon.”

Joe Stalin squinted and looked about the room. Then he walked over to Reichart who was seated on a chair, still trembling like a frightened animal. Joe leaned down over him and sniffed. “Ain’t no demon. Hot-shot here shit his pants.”

~~~

The voice was almost gone from his soul, almost completely silent now, and that saddened him terribly. Without the voice he didn’t have the courage to go after Alice, sweet lovely Alice. But maybe he could find the courage on his own, because he needed Alice, needed to know that she loved him, only him.

Yes, one last time. He would try one last time.

~~~

Like any bridegroom Anogh’s nerves were on edge. However, his anxiety stemmed not from the usual fears of a normal newlywed, but rather from his distrust of his bride’s father. Ag had been too nice about this.

Anogh stood facing Taal’mara before the assembled royalty of both Sidhe Courts, their hands crossed in front of them and joined right to right, and left to left. He wore the hereditary armor of the Summer Knight, and she an elaborate gown of silk brocade, studded with hundreds of tiny rubies and emeralds. Magreth had just bound their hands together with a silken veil, and now Anogh spoke the traditional words, “Oh woman, loved by me, mayest though give me thy heart and thy body for all time.”

For an instant Anogh forgot his fears as Taal’mara’s eyes flashed joyfully. But while it was a wonderful instant, it was only that, and his fears returned.

Ag should have been less joyful, less carefree. Yes, he had required of Anogh a binding oath to forever protect Taal’mara, but the necessity of such an oath was moot, for he would protect her with his life regardless. No, he feared Ag would in some way prevent the completion of the marriage rites, interrupt it in some way. It would be so like him to dangle Anogh’s most fervent desire in front of him, then withdraw it at the last instant.

Anogh didn’t really listen to Magreth’s or Ag’s words. He merely felt great relief at the finish of the ceremony. He and his bride were wed, and none could undo that.

They turned toward the assembled throng, still holding each other’s hands, still bound by the silken veil, and in that moment the great hall of the Unseelie Court transformed into a vast banquet hall, and an orchestra struck up a joyful waltz. Magreth lifted the veil from their hands and wrapped it about their shoulders, tying them again together. Anogh escorted Taal’mara out onto the dance floor, took her in his arms, and his heart swelled with joy as they moved through the paces of the dance.

When the dance ended, as custom dictated Ag joined them in the middle of the floor. He wore the hereditary armor of the Winter King, a silver rapier strapped to his side, its jeweled hilt protruding from an elaborately decorated sheath. Anogh walked off the floor while Ag took Taal’mara in his arms. As they danced Taal’mara was radiant, and Ag seemed quite pleased, the happy father of the bride. When the dance ended Ag stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “You are a joy to me,” he said, “for today you have given me a gift I could never have hoped for.”

She beamed a gorgeous smile at him. “It pleases me to give you joy, father.”

Ag stepped back a pace and said, “You have no idea, my child.” Then, in a single motion, he reached across, pulled the rapier and swung it in a flat arc. It sliced through her neck cleanly, and she stood there for a moment, a stunned look of surprise on her face. Then a veil of blood welled from her neck, her head toppled from her shoulders and bounced on the floor. As her mouth screamed a wail of pain and fear, her body toppled forward and hit the floor with a thud.

Anogh screamed, “Nooooo,” and he lunged for Ag, but standing about him were several Unseelie warriors who were prepared for his reaction. He struggled and fought and kicked and screamed, but with the strength of numbers they wrestled him to the floor, then lifted him to his feet, his arms imprisoned behind him.

Taal’mara’s head continued to shriek and scream. A great hunting hawk cried out and swooped down from the rafters of the hall, but just above Taal’mara’s body it transformed into the shadowed
black-fey
assassin. Sabreatha pulled two blades of cold iron from sheaths at her waist.

“Nooooo,” Anogh screamed again and redoubled his struggles, but to no avail.

Ag approached him arrogantly, stopped in front of him and said, “You have failed in your oath, Summer Knight. You are now bound to the Winter Court.”

He turned his back on Anogh, and they both watched Sabreatha crouch and stab one knife into Taal’mara’s heart, and the other into an eye. Anogh struggled anew, but they beat him into unconsciousness.

. . . Anogh had relived that day a thousand times in the six hundred years since Taal’mara’s passing. And he would relive it again a thousand more.

~~~

It had been an exhausting week for all of them, but mostly for Paul. Katherine saw the fatigue in the lines on his face and the slump of his shoulders.