Twenty Palaces (31 page)

The ball of light burst into a sickly mist. Theresa slumped against me, her whole body going slack. Other cousins, already fighting for position, dove toward her. With my injured hand, I supported her head, holding it so I could keep the ghost knife in place. The pain was like being shot all over again, and I shouted through the glove.

Immediately, a half dozen cousins swarmed toward the sound, even as more and more dove into Theresa's mouth and burst into greenish-black mist. They followed each other in a steady stream, pushing up through the opening in the floor as though they couldn't sense each other and had no idea what was happening to the rest of their swarm.

A half-second later, the cousins who responded to the sound of my voice rushed toward my face. It took all my self-control not to reel back and dodge away from them; I let the first enter my mouth and strike the glove.
 

The impact was solid. The spines of the cousins' crooked legs scraped at my lips and gouged the roof of my mouth. A second, then a third struck the spell, all of them taking up the same space, all of them digging at the inside of my mouth. A fourth hit, a fifth.
 

The awful mist nearly obscured my aunt's head, but I could still feel, through some connection I didn't understand, the cousins throwing themselves blindly onto the ghost knife. I didn't have to endure the pain in my mouth forever. I just had to hold on until every cousin had come into our world and destroyed themselves.
 

A sixth hit the glove.
 

The balls of light floating around me suddenly dissolved upward in a spray of liquid light. Someone had broken the circle. I looked downward and saw two dozen or so swirling lights still out in the Empty Spaces. I'd been so close to getting them all. So close.
 

I slid the ghost knife from the back of my aunt's neck. It came out clean, and after a moment's shock realized there was blood all over the back of her neck.
 

Only my blood, I hoped, not hers, but there was no time to check now. I pivoted inside the circle. The spell must have been broken a few seconds before, because the floor had returned before I even had a chance to look up. The passage into the Empty Spaces was sealed.

Echo leaned to the side, her hand planted on the concrete beyond the circle. She'd broken the spell while there were still cousins safely in the Empty Spaces; if she'd waited a few seconds longer, they would have all died, every one. The only ones left were the ones stuck to the glove in my mouth, who were still panicked and attacking me.

Echo rolled over, getting her good leg under her. The gunshot knee didn't seem to bother her, but she clearly couldn't use it. Even so, her movements were quick and fluid, and I could tell by the look on her face that she was coming for me.

I took a deep breath. There were others in the room--my uncle, the bodyguard, Skullface--who might be coming after me, but I didn't pay any attention to them. I had one chance to take on Echo and live, and the winner was going to be decided in the next quarter second.
 

She bent her good leg, ready to jump, and I started moving my right hand--and my ghost knife--forward. Her eyes darted toward it. Just as she pushed off, I let out that deep breath I'd just taken and spit the glove at her.
 

She came at me fast, but not as fast as she had before. And although she couldn't change the direction and momentum of her jump, she did reach out quickly and easily to snatch the glove out of the air.
 

The cousins were still attached to it, and they thrashed and gouged at her skin. The small injuries they gave her made her wince in pain in a way the bullet hadn't--because the predators were still mostly magical? Whatever caused it, she paused just long enough for me to slap my injured hand over hers, and Irena's glove.
 

Her whole body stiffened, and the crooked, branching limbs of the cousin appeared around her head, whipping and twisting under the strain.
 

Ignoring my pain, I threw myself at her and plunged the ghost knife into her left cheek, then slicing upward.
 

She fell onto the floor and the side of her head broke open, just like the others' had. Except this time, my aunt and uncle, Skullface, his bodyguard, and the little girl all saw the creature that came out of her.

I staggered to the side, feeling suddenly woozy and fell to my knees on the concrete floor. The red circle was just there, beside me. I'd have to destroy that soon. Very soon. And just behind the circle where Echo sat, a plastic supermarket shopping bag lay on the floor. Amongst all the clutter, something about it called for my attention

My mouth was full of blood, but not as much as I'd expected. I let it run onto the floor because it was disgusting to swallow it.
 

"Karl, no."
 

That was Aunt Theresa's voice, just behind me, breaking through the silence; suddenly, I could hear everything around me, shuffling feet, harsh breathing, the little girl calling for Daddy.

I turned and saw Karl pointing his gun at me.

"Karl," Theresa said again. "Ray just saved me. Those lights... I saw them up close. I saw them. They were...."

She turned to me, hoping I would finish the sentence. I could have said
alive
or
hungry
, but what I said instead was: "Hallucinations." It was hard to talk, but they seemed to understand.

She looked disappointed. "Oh, Raymond."

Uncle Karl didn't lower his weapon. "What do you mean,
hallucinations
? I saw that! We all did!"

I was too tired to argue. Footsteps thundered across the living room floor above. The guards from out front were on their way. Skullface and the others were watching us with wide eyes, as if we were juggling hand grenades.
 

I spit blood on the floor so I could talk to Skullface. "Keep those motherfuckers out of here, or else."

The bodyguard leaned close to him. "Sir, I think we should leave."

Skullface agreed and they met the guards halfway on the stairs, ordering them all to back up.

My uncle was still angry, but the barrel of his gun was no longer pointing at me. It had wandered off to the side a few inches. "How could that have been a hallucination?"

"What other explanation are you going to give?" I asked, loud enough for Skullface to hear me. "There was no cure. There never was. It was just a drug that liquefied your brain."

Karl shook his head. "I've seen Jon's medical records. His spine was healed."

I shook my head and spit again. "It was a con."

The old man stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at me. Did he believe me? I hoped so. If the guy put his fortune into finding another spell, he just might succeed, and who would be around to clean up that mess? Not Mr. "I gave my word" over there.

"They tried to get me involved," I continued. "But fuck that. They used hallucinogens to make you see things--to make you think they were doing magic."

When Skullface spoke, his voice was thin and nasal. "My people checked him out, too. His medical records--"

"All they would have given you is poison."

"But--

Karl pivoted toward the stairs. "Do you have a better explanation?"

Skullface shut his mouth. The little girl in his arms looked at me over her wasted legs. Her eyes were wide but her expression was calm. Whatever she was feeling, she wasn't showing it. They disappeared up the stairs.

Karl had put his gun away and helped Theresa to her feet. I pocketed my ghost knife and picked up the supermarket shopping bag.

Inside was Annalise's vest and all of her ribbons.

Theresa hugged me, briefly, then walked quickly around Echo's body. Karl led her toward the stairs.

On a shelf beneath the stairs, I found a can of turpentine and an old mop. I screwed off the top and started pouring it over the painted floor.

"Hey!" Karl growled. "You're destroying evidence!"

I didn't turn around. I just began mopping the chemical around, destroying the design.

"Hell," Karl said, resignation in his voice, "Good thing I wasn't here to see that." They continued up the stairs.

The blue sheet of paper with the summoning spell on it was lying under the shopping bag. I dropped it into a puddle of turpentine, then took out one of Annalise's a red ribbons. Would it even work for me? I had no way to know except to try. I willed it to ignite and threw it into a corner. It struck a pile of magazines like a dart and burst into flames, setting fire to a stack of magazines beside the design. Then I lit the end of the turpentine-soaked mop and tossed it into the pile of clutter. Go, fire.

Of course, I was still holding a bag full of Annalise's spells. There was a lot of power in here, even if I didn't know what it all did. Strangely, though, holding the bag of spells was like standing beside her, in some weird way. I could sense her in the magic.

And while I wanted power, I didn't want hers. I wanted my own. I threw the bag into the flames.
 

There was a loud crash and a scream from upstairs. I ran upstairs as quickly as I could, but I was weak from exhaustion and it took me too long. Much too long.
 

In the kitchen, I found Karl lying on the floor, holding the side of his head and moaning. Skullface stood in the corner, the girl in his arms.

I knelt over Karl. "Where's Aunt Theresa?"

"He took her," the little girl said.

The garage door opened outside. I ran to the window and yanked the curtains back. Jon's van rumbled out of the garage, steadily picking up speed. Through the windshield, I caught a glimpse of him, his head mashed and swollen like a pumpkin, at the wheel. As the Savana passed, I looked through the ragged hole Annalise had made when she tore off the side door and saw my Aunt Theresa lying there, bound hand and foot, and terrified.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The van rumbled down the driveway toward the street. I hissed out the word "Shit" and sprayed blood onto the window.
 

A hand clamped down on my shoulder. "Son, you have some explaining to do."

It was the bodyguard. I yanked the ghost knife from my pocket and slid it through the end of his finger. He yanked his hand back. "That man's a cop," I said as I ran out of the room. "Make sure he gets out of the building."
 

I sprinted toward the front of the house. Every drape and curtain in the house was shut tight, so I couldn't see the van. I did hear the thick, metallic sound of two vehicles slamming into each other outside.

In the living room, hanging over the fireplace just where I remembered it, was the thirty-ought-six Barbara had promised to use on me. I leaped onto the couch and yanked it off the wall. As I ran for the front door, I slid back the bolt. Still loaded. Thanks, Bingo.

I burst out of the house and ran down the porch. An old woman in a wheelchair shrieked as I passed, but she was just a blur to me. At the end of the drive, Jon's van backed away from a news van, then turned hard onto the narrow street.
 

The three bodyguards heard the woman's shriek and spun around toward me, but drew back when they saw the rifle in my hands.

Jon started down the block, braked, straightened out, then started down the block again. Even with the delay from his fender-bender, he was too far and too fast for me to catch on foot.
 

I ran between two cars and knelt in the street. There was no way I could brace the rifle with my injured hand, so I laid it in the crook of my elbow and aimed down the length of the barrel. Absurdly, it felt like I was hugging it.

I knew that make and model of van and I knew exactly where the gas tank was. But Aunt Theresa was in there, and I had already accidentally shot someone I...
 

I squeezed the trigger before I could think about it more. A bullet hole appeared low in the fender and gas began to leak onto the street.
 

"FREEZE!" a man shouted from behind me. "DROP THE WEAPON!"

I tossed the rifle away and looked over my shoulder. Cops. Perfect.

"Don't turn around!" another voice shouted.
 

At the far end of the block, two police cars skidded to a halt, blocking the street. The van braked hard.

I raised my hands and lay down on the street. The two cops pounced on me, hard. One knelt on my shoulders and neck while the other twisted my arms around my back and cuffed me. My injured hand flared in pain at every jolt. "The guy in the van has a hostage," I told them.

"Don't struggle. Don't!"

I wasn't struggling. "He's killed a lot of people."

The cops weren't listening. "You have the right to remain silent. You have the right--"

"I know the drill." I let myself go limp. I'd known this would happen eventually. There wasn't much point in fighting.

Gunfire erupted from the far end of the block. Then screaming. The cops manhandling me froze; those were not good sounds. The gunfire kept going, fast and futile. Another man screamed.

"Charlie?" one of the cops said. He stood and took a couple of steps toward the gunfire. The other cop stood, too.

"You don't understand--" I said.

The bigger cop turned and pointed at me. "You! Stay!" Then they trotted toward Jon's van. The screams and gunfire had stopped.

The cops spoke into the radios on their shoulders, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. They spread out and moved along either side of Jon's van.

I dug the ghost knife out of my back pocket and sliced through the handcuff chain. I rolled onto my good hand and pushed myself onto my knees. At the end of the street, Jon's van was still idling. I couldn't see any people.

A bright light shone into my eyes, blinding me. A man circled me with a camera on his shoulder, his bright light beaming at me and my broken handcuffs.

"The real news is over there," I said.

More gunshots--the camera swung toward the sound. I tried to blink the spots out of my eyes, but I couldn't see anything ahead, but I could heard the screaming.