Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) (33 page)
Teag hit one of the thrashing monsters with his staff, knocking it back into the water. I had to be careful with the walking stick, because I didn’t want to hit anyone with fire, and I wasn’t sure whether or not any of the equipment around us might be flammable.
One of the monster leeches hurled itself into the air and lay wriggling at my feet, its open maw flexing as it sought flesh. I leveled my athame and a brilliant, white light flared as my power sent it flailing through the air. Leeches don’t fly well, thank all the gods and spirits.
The leeches must have smelled blood, because the water boiled with them. They crawled over one another in their frenzy to reach us, and more than once, we saw one of the uber-leeches reach escape velocity only to be grabbed and pulled back into the stagnant depths by a hungry fellow bloodsucker.
I would have loved to have just torched the lot of them, but I had no way of knowing what else lurked in the shadowed recesses. If there were left-over cans of gasoline or other flammables somewhere above water level, I could set up a fatal fireball that would wipe us out along with the leeches.
Sorren slashed at the leeches with his swords, sending bloody geysers into the air as he cut them in half. The leeches writhed and wriggled, blood spurting everywhere, until they rolled into the depths of the filthy, stinking water to be consumed by their fellow monsters.
I promised myself time to throw up if we survived the encounter.
Caliel let out a yelp, and scrambled back as a leech thrashed toward him, intent on the fresh, hot blood it sensed. Sorren grappled with one of the leeches that had managed to get a grip on his leg, and I watched, sickened, as he yanked it free, its maw red with blood.
“Get up the stairs!” I yelled. “I’ll blast them once we’re clear.”
No one needed to be told twice. We all scrambled up the metal stairs, and I turned and loosed a blast of cold magical force from my athame. The brilliant white light hit the writhing leeches, hurling them free of the steps, throwing them back into the fetid water and tearing some of them into little bits for good measure. Their bloody remnants served to distract the rest of the monsters from following us, as they fought over the spoils.
I was shaking as we reached the relative safety of the second floor. “Keep moving,” Sorren urged. “I think we’ve gotten the wrong kind of attention.”
We had awakened the spirits tied to this place. Whatever bound their restless shades to this godforsaken ruin had shaken them from their restless sleep, and now they were looking to take their annoyance out on those who had interrupted their eternal slumber.
The night outside was still and hot. Yet here in the power plant, it had grown so cold I expected to see my breath. Shadows and half-seen images darted around the edges of my sight, and the sense of being watched was oppressive and overwhelming. I glimpsed faces in the shadows, human forms and glowing orbs.
“Run!” Caliel shouted. I smelled a whiff of pipe smoke and heard a dog bark angrily at the pursuing spirits, suggesting that Caliel had persuaded Papa Legba’s spirit to buy us time to escape.
We took the steps two at a time back to the main floor, and Sorren dropped back, swords in both hands, ready to fight. Teag and I were in front as we sprinted for the doorway with Caliel close behind. We were running flat out, anxious to be out of that cursed place. Sorren came last, though with his vampire speed he could have easily lapped us all.
We cleared the doorway to the outside and slammed the heavy metal door into place. Caliel used a flicker of magic to turn the deadbolt, although whether or not the things that pursued us would be slowed by something as mundane as steel was debatable.
Three out of five of the Watchers were already here. Two more, and all hell would break loose, “On the bright side,” Sorren said, “I’ve finally gotten through to the Briggs Society. Archie’s been around a time or two. He’ll have some ideas on this. Be ready to go at seven tomorrow night. The Briggs doesn’t wait for anyone.”
W
E STOOD OUTSIDE
a two-story brick building on the edge of the old part of town at seven o’clock the next night. An engraved bronze plaque by the door read, ‘Briggs Society. Explorers welcome. Ring bell’.
A day had passed since our adventure at the power plant, and I had barely regained my wits and nerve. But with Charleston on the brink of a supernatural apocalypse, none of us had time for a mental health day. So here Teag and I were with Sorren, on the front steps of a building I had often passed but never noticed, as an obnoxiously loud doorbell summoned attention from within.
“You really think this friend of yours can help?” I asked.
Sorren shrugged. “It won’t hurt to ask. Archie’s one of the few people who’s likely to realize something bad is going on.” The brick Georgian building looked staid for such things, but Sorren had taught me how much could hide behind a well-heeled facade.
Before I could ask any more questions, a man in an honest-to-goodness butler’s uniform came to the door. He looked like something out of Hollywood central casting, tall and lean, complete with a hang-dog expression.
“Password, please?” he asked in a cultured baritone.
“Hurly-burly,” Sorren replied without batting an eye. The butler nodded and stood aside.
“Welcome, Mister Sorren.” He looked Teag and me over. “Guests? I wasn’t told.”
“Cairo Protocol, Higgins,” Sorren replied without a pause. “Colonel Donnelly will understand.”
“Very well, sir. Right this way, sir.”
I felt as if I had stepped into the Victorian era. Everywhere I looked, the rooms were filled with treasures and mementos from around the world and from every culture and time period. African and Pacific Islander masks vied with Ming vases, Chinese statues, Japanese kimonos, and Samurai armor. In the center of the foyer, where most establishments would have put a nice table with a huge floral arrangement sat a taxidermied Percheron horse wearing full steel barding.
The foyer was a rotunda with an overhead dome ringed with windows that, while dark now, probably set the room in a bright glow during the day. Portraits hung on the walls dating back hundreds of years. I wondered if Sorren was a founding member, and if so, how he kept his true nature a secret. Then I took a second look at the paintings. I recognized some of the names. John Cabot, the explorer. Henry Hudson and George Bass, also explorers, along with Gaspar Corte-Real, and Sir John Franklin. Every one of them known for being daring explorers – and for disappearing without a trace.
Teag looked fascinated as we followed Higgins down a hallway. More portraits lined the walls; bronze castings, marble busts, and ornate Indian statues were showcased in nooks every few feet. I was certain that the Killim carpet beneath our feet was original and priceless. Although many of the doors we passed were closed, those that were not exposed equally well-appointed rooms filled with furnishings I recognized as antique and expensive. I was sure that I had glimpsed a couple of paintings thought to have been lost or destroyed in wars long past, and I longed to find out what the numerous glass display cases contained. The one case I was close enough to peer inside held a very old, leather-bound book with the title
My Story
written by Virginia Dare. My eyes widened, but there was no time to ask questions to investigate. Even at a distance, curiosity warred with prudence, since my Gift warned me that many, if not most, of the objects carried supernatural power.
That’s when the name ‘Briggs’ connected for me. Benjamin Briggs had been the captain of the
Mary Celeste
, which was found floating and deserted in 1872, and no trace of Briggs, his family or the rest of the crew has ever been found.
If there’s anyone who knows anything about people who vanish into thin air, it seems like we’ve come to the right place.
“This whole place is filled with Spookies and Sparklers,” Teag whispered. I wondered now how many of the items Sorren had ‘disposed’ of for us had found a permanent home here, and what made this fine old building a suitable containment area.
“In here, sir.” Higgins opened a door and stepped to one side. Sorren murmured his thanks and strode into the room, and with a glance and a shrug, Teag and I followed.
“Sorren, my good fellow. What brings you out tonight – with guests, no less?” The speaker was a florid-faced man who looked to be in his late sixties. Tall and raw-boned, everything from his elocution to his bespoke suit was utterly upper-crust. He stood in a well-appointed parlor. Dark wainscoting and hunter green paint gave the room a decidedly masculine feel, while the sculpted plaster ceiling, crystal chandelier, and antique Aubusson carpets softened the overall impression of the room. I was not surprised to find more exquisite paintings adorning the walls, along with a tapestry I judged to be several centuries old and likely Belgian in origin.
“May I present Colonel Archibald Donnelly,” Sorren said, and our host inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Colonel, this is Cassidy Kincaide and Teag Logan, my assistants.”
The Colonel nodded, and gestured toward a small seating area near the fireplace fitted with antique Delft tiles. “I don’t have anything on hand for you, Sorren, sorry to say, but can I offer either of you two a bourbon?”
Teag and I declined. Colonel Donnelly poured a drink for himself and sat down in a brocade wing chair. “Haven’t seen you around the Club in quite a while, Sorren. A few of the members have asked about you. Heard about the fire. Damned shame. Into a bit of trouble, I presume?” The Colonel lifted a shaggy eyebrow, and his blue eyes were clear and bright, with more than a hint of mischief. I was willing to bet he had been a hell-raiser in his younger days.
“You’ve felt the disturbances?” Sorren asked.
Colonel Donnelly snorted. “Hell’s bells, man. Of course I felt them! Wouldn’t be worth my salt as a necromancer if I hadn’t. Question is: what are you going to do about it?”
“Josiah Winfield’s ghost is back. So is Daniel Hunter. Someone is bringing Nephilim across, and several Watchers have already crossed over,” Sorren said. “At least a half a dozen people have vanished. Trouble’s brewing, and whoever is behind this is either nursing an old grudge or trying to get me out of the way. Maybe Sariel, back from the grave. We’re going to need high-powered help, Archie. That’s why I came to you.”
So many of the objects in the room carried such strong magic that it was difficult to keep my mind on the conversation. The parlor was filled with Victorian clutter: a terrarium full of mandrake, botanical drawings of flora and fauna I was pretty sure didn’t exist in the natural world, and a suit of armor that looked more like a space suit for a creature with decidedly non-human appendages.
If I concentrated, I could hear many of the items whispering to me, making me all kinds of promises if I would free them, trying to seduce me with flattery and visions. I folded my hands in my lap, determined not to touch anything. Teag’s attention seemed to be riveted on the tapestry, and when I looked at the large, intricately woven picture, I realized that it was chock full of magical sigils and symbols. It fairly glowed with power, and I couldn’t begin to imagine how it might look to Teag’s Weaver magic.
“Talk to me about Reapers and Watchers, Archie,” Sorren said. “Half a dozen or so men started down stairways and never reached the bottom. All had questionable backgrounds, but no convictions. No blood, no bodies. Just vanished.”
Archibald Donnelly nodded. “Sounds like Watchers, all right. They feed on the people they judge, and a powerful sorcerer like Sariel could use them to reflect power back to him. As for Reapers, they’re minor demons, harder to catch than they are to destroy. Slippery devils. But someone has to call them from the Lower Realms, and frighten them into following the rules.” He sighed. “Otherwise, they’d just be snatching folks left and right. That alone tells you we’re going against someone with real power.”
Donnelly shook his head. “’Course, the Reapers don’t realize that they’re just the cows being fattened for slaughter. Kind of like supernatural batteries. They store blood power for the sorcerer to use for his big event.” He paused. “The Watchers are senior Nephilim, and they help the sorcerer do whatever he means to do.”
“So the sorcerer needs the Watchers to call down a Harrowing,” Sorren said. “Familiar territory, Archie. Remember?”
Donnelly nodded. “Aye. And I thought we eliminated the most likely suspect a long time ago.”