Summoning the Night (3 page)

While we unloaded the trunk, Jupe started in again about the Snatcher. In the oceanside Northern California town where he and Lon lived, this was apparently a local urban legend: a bogeyman whom no one had ever seen. When I pressed Jupe for details, all he could give me was a tangle of motley stories about young teenage Earthbounds who were picked off one by one at Halloween in the early '80s.

Great. That was the last thing I wanted to think about. Several weeks had passed since Jupe had been held hostage and his arm broken, but those memories continued to send a familiar pang of guilt through my gut. And from the worry shading his eyes right now, I guessed he wasn't all that keen on pondering the possibility of getting kidnapped again, either. Best not to talk about it.

“Smells like someone's been pissing all over the walls,” Jupe complained, wrinkling his nose in disgust as we toted the bags of fruit and candy to the elevator.

“Someone probably has. Lots of someones.” I glanced over my shoulder and scanned the dirty garage. The concrete floor shook with the dull boom of a car on the level above us driving over speed bumps. Otherwise it was quiet. Usually
was during the daytime on weekends. “Inhale through your mouth,” I suggested. “And stay sharp.”

He followed my instruction as I stopped in front of the elevator and used a knuckle to press the cracked plastic button to go up. I started to ask Jupe a question but was interrupted when something hit me in the shoulder, knocking me sideways. My cheek smacked into the concrete above the elevator button panel. Pain flared. A bag of limes fell out of my hand as Jupe yelled behind me.

“Against the wall! Move!” A man in a bright blue hoodie towered in front of us, his face shrouded in sharp slices of shadow under the dim garage lights. No halo, so he was human, not Earthbound. His blond hair was shaggily cropped. He carried a curved hunting knife in one hand and stood with his legs apart, bouncing on the toes of his tennis shoes, ready for a fight.

I dropped the other bag I was holding and backed into Jupe. The scrape on my cheek was on fire. My heart galloped frantically inside my chest.

“Money. Now!” the man shouted. As he did, his head shifted out of the shadows to reveal a mouthful of yellow, rotting teeth. Meth head, I assumed, pairing his dental issues with the twitchy way he moved. Not exactly a man in his prime, that's for sure. On one hand, I might be able to take him down with a swift kick to his balls. Then again, I might get stuck with that dirty-ass knife.

“Credit cardth too,” the man added with a lisp, looking me over with nervous eyes. He turned the knife over in his hand and blinked rapidly. His erratic, drug-primed pulse was probably a few pumps away from causing his heart to explode. I wished I could will it along a little faster.

Jupe made a mewing noise behind me as his hands
gripped the back of my jacket. I thought of the magical seals on my inner forearm, white ink tattoos etched into my skin. I could charge one of them to make Jupe and me seem to disappear, then we could run to the car and escape. But most of the seals require blood or saliva to activate—both rich with Heka, the magical energy needed to power spells—and my jacket sleeves were stiff. The meth addict could easily shiv me in the gut while I fumbled to get to the seals.

What else? Not enough time to break out a hunk of red ochre chalk and scribble out a spell, and I couldn't very well knock the guy out with a sack of limes. There was my new ability, the so-called Moonchild power. The last time I'd used it, I'd given up my serial-killer parents to an ancient Æthyric demon in payment for their crimes. Not exactly something I wanted to dwell on . . . or remember at all, frankly. Regardless, the ability only worked on demons, and the man standing in front of us was human. So what the hell was I going to do?

“You got a wallet, boy?” the mugger asked.

“No way,” Jupe whispered in my ear. “I'm not giving him my money.”

“What did you say? You got money?” The man twisted his head around, scanning the garage as another car drove through the level above us.

I didn't answer. Like Jupe said, no way.

“I don't mind hurtin' either one of you,” the man warned. “Eat or be eaten. A big, bad thtorm's a-comin'. Can't you feel it in the air?”

From the psychotic glint in his eyes, I didn't think he was talking about the afternoon rain forecast. Stupid bastard was out of his ever-loving mind. Dirty, diseased, high, and crazy.

A fluorescent light shone above the elevator. I was going to have to shock him. Why was my last resort always my only
option? Best not to kick a gift horse in the mouth, I supposed. Most mages would probably give their right arm to be able to kindle Heka like I could. My sensitivity threshold to electrical shock was pretty high. “Stay away,” I threatened, “or whatever god you pray to better help you, because I'm going to fry you to hell and back.”

“Say what?” He narrowed his eyes and visually searched me for a weapon.

I tapped into the electrical current. My skin tingled with the familiar flow of foreign energy as I spooled electricity into myself. No time to be gentle about it, so I pulled fast. Lights flickered. The descending elevator groaned in protest. Within a couple of seconds, my body hummed with enough charged Heka to shock the guy pretty badly. But I'd have to get close enough to touch him. The concrete floor was a poor conductor.

“Let go,” I growled through gritted teeth, trying to shake Jupe off. He was gripping my jacket like death and if he didn't let go, I couldn't do this. Without a caduceus staff to even out the release, it was going to hurt all of us when I let go of the kindled Heka.

The garage elevator dinged.

The mugger yelped and swiveled wildly, searching for the source of the sound.

The elevator doors parted.

“Police are coming! Run!” Jupe shouted near my ear. I jumped in surprise, nearly losing control of the Heka.

Spooked, the mugger cried out incoherently, turned on his heels, and fled from Jupe's nonexistent police in the empty elevator car. We watched in disbelief as he raced his own heartbeat up the parking garage ramp toward the next level. As he barreled around the corner, a large blue minivan
sped down the ramp and slammed on squealing brakes when Methbrain ran out in front of it. The disconcerting thump of metal on flesh echoed through the garage. Then the man's body jerked and he crumpled on top of the minivan's hood.

Jupe gasped.

The doors to the elevator closed.

Unable to hold the Heka any longer, I shoved a shaking hand into my inner jacket pocket until my fingers wrapped around a pencil. I pushed Jupe away forcefully, then thrust the pencil into the concrete wall, releasing a substantial volt of charged Heka through the small graphite point. The wooden caduceus staves I normally used for magical work contained fat graphite cores that allow smooth releases of kindled energy. This puny pencil? Not so much. It immediately overloaded and shattered, wedging a yellow wooden splinter into my skin.

“Shit!” I stuck my injured finger in my mouth as a wave of post-magick nausea hit me and I swayed on my feet. The sound of car doors opening drew my attention to the minivan. Three people were running to help the meth head—but he popped up from the hood like an unkillable video game character, briefly shook himself, and tore off, further up the ramp and out of sight.

Jupe's eyes were two brilliant circles of leafy green surrounded by white moons. “You okay?” I asked, putting my hands all over him like an overanxious soccer mom. Panicked thoughts of his needing another cast ran through my head.

“Whoa . . .” He was just shaken, but otherwise fine. His eyes darted between me and the minivan. “We almost got mugged.”

“Oh, God, Jupe. I'm
so
sorry.” I wrapped my arms around him. A dark laugh vibrated his shoulders. I released him to study his face. He wasn't smiling.

“Do you believe me now?” he said. “I did that, Cady. Like I convinced the manager at the credit union.”

“Jupe—”

He shook his head, dismissing my lack of belief, then said firmly, “I just made that mugger believe the cops were coming.”

The bottom fell out of heavy clouds during our half-block trek to the bar. As rain poured from a dark sky, we dashed down the sidewalk with the bags of bruised fruit, darting through umbrella-carrying crowds. All I could think about was getting Jupe the hell out of that garage, dropping off the bar supplies, then hightailing it back to my house without anything else happening.

I'm not the only magician in town, so there's likely plenty of warded places scattered throughout the Morella and La Sirena area, but only three that I trust: my house, Lon's house, and my bar, Tambuku Tiki Lounge, where neither supernatural attacker nor crazy, meth-addled human mugger could get inside without setting off several protective spells. Safe as milk, especially when it was closed.

A short length of steps flanked by waist-high tiki statues led us down to the door of the underground bar. The neon signs were off. It was around noon, and even though we didn't open until two on weekends, my business partner, Kar Yee, usually came in early to work on the previous night's receipts in the back office. I pounded on the locked door and peered through iron bars into the stained glass. Its red hibiscus
design obscured the view when the inside lights were off, so I couldn't see much. Maybe she wasn't there after all. Cold, pooling rain dripped from the thatched awning above the entrance. Jupe huddled next to me as I fumbled with my keys and got the door open.

“Your sign says ‘No One Under 21 Allowed,'” Jupe noted with a devious smile.

“If anyone asks, you're on official delivery business.” I pushed him inside and locked the door behind us. The motion-sensor toucan that Kar Yee had recently installed by the front door chirped to announce our entry. Hearing the damned thing go off every minute during my shifts made me want to hex somebody.

A thick cloud of worry settled in my lungs and tightened my throat as the weight of the situation settled on me: we almost got
mugged
. I pushed away gruesome thoughts of Jupe dying in an ER from a dirty knife wound. Lon was going to freak when he found out. Maybe I could persuade Jupe to keep his mouth shut about it.

“It smells like pineapple in here,” he remarked cheerfully, as if the events from the parking garage were already forgotten. His head turned in circles as he strained to see the long, narrow bar in the diffused light shining in from the red window.

“Hold on.” I shucked my coat, shaking out the raindrops, and flipped three switches that turned on the ambient lights: multicolored glass Japanese fishing floats hanging above the bar, Easter Island lamps at the booths, and thousands of stringed white lights.

“Whoa!”

I'll admit, even with my shot nerves, it made me a little proud to show off Tambuku to someone who appreciated
its kitschy charm. His father, who is uncomfortable in small, crowded spaces, had only ducked inside a couple of times after closing to pick me up, and he'd pronounced it “nice”—Lon's all-encompassing adjective for anything that he doesn't hate.

Jupe, however, proceeded to bounce around the bar with enthusiasm, noting details. “Those are the binding seals around the tables that you told me about?” he said, eying the booths and tables with curiosity. Beneath each one, magical snares were hand-painted onto the floor. A local artist altered the designs to fit in with the Polynesian feel of the place without corrupting the authenticity of the symbols. “You really use them to keep drunk-ass Earthbounds in line?”

“Yep.”

“Every night?”

“Depends on the night.”

“Oh, man,” he pined, “would I
love
to see you do that.”

“It's not that exciting, I promise.”

“You designed this place all by yourself?” Jupe dropped three battered sacks on top of the bar and stared up at the wooden tiki dolls dangling from the ceiling.

“No, she didn't.” Kar Yee padded out from the office, the door slamming shut behind her. “If Cady had her way, we would have installed too many booths. At least one of us has good business sense.”

“Oh, so you
are
here,” I complained. “Didn't you hear me banging on the front door? It's pouring outside.”

The lithe Hong Kong ex-pat shrugged, her sleek black bob rustling as she passed under a ceiling fan. She was wearing a thin, white cowl-neck sweater that fell mid-thigh and clung to her petite figure, and below it, a pair of black leggings. “I was listening to music. Why are you so grumpy?”

“We almost got mugged in the Metropark.”

“Almost?”

“The mugger ran away.” I darted a glance at Jupe. He wasn't listening. He was too busy staring at Kar Yee.

“No one was hurt?” she asked, studying the scrape on my cheek.

I shook my head.

“We need more cops in this area,” she snapped. Her tone was high-pitched and brusque, like
I
was the reason for the lack of police presence.