Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) (48 page)

“Very.” We parked the car in a maintenance driveway, and hefted the bags with our weapons. My arm hurt, but painkillers were out if we were going to fight. By the time we were back at the entrance to the road, the others had joined us, grim-faced and determined.

We walked beside the rough gravel road toward the tree. The land around the Angel Oak has been kept undeveloped to preserve the tree, so it was really dark. The only light came from the security bulbs on the small gift shop. That glow was barely enough to show the silhouette of the tree, but even so, the huge size was breathtaking.

The Angel Oak is gigantic. People who have been to plantations or gardens in the South have seen plenty of live oaks, but nothing like the Angel Oak. At more than sixty-five feet tall and over twenty-five feet in circumference, the tree is epic. No one is quite sure how old the tree is. I had heard people say five hundred years, while others argued more than a millennium. The Angel Oak has limbs that are almost ninety feet long and more than eleven feet thick. Being in its presence is awe-inspiring, like going to the redwood forest or seeing the ocean for the first time. Even people without magic know subconsciously that the tree is a place of power.

Sariel knew it, too.

We got to the tree first. Sorren signaled us to stop and wait in the shadows while he scouted. He returned in a few moments.

“Sariel’s not here now, but he’s been here. Most likely to cause the gas leak problem and guarantee no one would interrupt his ritual,” Sorren reported.

Score one for Teag’s analysis,
I thought.

We all knew the plan, so we had our roles and our places. Teag and I paired up and moved to the right. Lucinda and Sorren went toward the back of the tree. Chuck and Daniel went left. There was no telling how long we had before Sariel showed up, and we had a lot to do.

Lucinda began to walk a circle widdershins around the Angel Oak, carrying a walking stick that belonged to a powerful houngan ancestor. She used charcoal mixed with sage and salt to form a sacred circle, and carried a burning sage smudge as she walked and chanted. At one point, she stopped to drape a small rag doll over one of the Angel Oak’s low branches and hung a single old shoe by its laces, to send a message to the spirits on the Other Side. Then she set several cobalt-blue bottles upside-down over some of the tree’s smaller shoots so that they stood upright. Those were ‘witch bottles’, meant to trap less powerful evil spirits. Lucinda laid an offering to the Loas at the base of the great tree: eggs and white flowers, a bottle of rum, several cigars, and a wreath made of leaves.

Chuck and Daniel walked across the open area around the tree, bending down every so often to nestle something into the grass and dirt. Both men were even more heavily armed than usual. The big handgun Chuck had used at the nursing home was in a holster on his belt, and a bandolier across his chest held silver-modified bullets, EMF grenades, a couple of dangerous-looking cylinders with wires and dim red lights, and that odd ray gun he had used at the Old Jail. He also had something that looked like a sawed-off shotgun but with more wires and a power pack. I was in favor of anything short of C4.

Daniel wore a similar bandolier with bullets and shotgun shells that were likely as magically modified as Chuck’s. He was packing the handgun he had used at the cemetery, and in the moonlight, I thought I saw silver runes running down its barrel and around its grip. Daniel also had something else that looked like a cross between a shotgun and a harpoon, with a sharp silver blade. I also saw some wicked-looking knives on his bandolier that I bet were custom-made and customized for hunting supernatural prey.

Teag and I wore thin bullet-proof vests under our clothing, with protective woven vests beneath them. With luck, that would protect us from direct hits both mundane and magical, although no one sells ‘anti-Nephilim’ rated body armor, even on the Darke Web. We looked. The stitches in my arm were wrapped up with gauze and padding. Sorren had shown up with shirts for both of us that were supposed to be made out of a ‘cut-proof’ fabric. That might reduce the damage from a knife, but I was willing to bet it hadn’t been tried against fallen angel claws.

I had one of Josiah Winfield’s dueling pistols, and Teag had the other, and we both had enough ammunition to get in a couple of shots. Bo’s collar was on my left hand, and Bo had been beside me since we reached the Angel Oak, waiting until he was needed to bite one of the Nephilim on its ass. I had Alard’s walking stick hanging from a strap on the left side of my utility belt, and my athame up my sleeve in a wrist holster. The
chakram
hung on my right side. In my pockets, I’d stashed my Norse spindle whorl to amplify my magic, packets of salt and a couple of other protective charms, and I was wearing my agate necklace.

Teag had his battle staff, a couple of knotted ropes to replenish his magic, and his
espada y daga
, a dagger and sword set. He had extra daggers in a bandolier, and the silver-edged
urumi
whip sword coiled in and hanging from a strap at his belt. He wore his
agimat
and hamsa charms, and in a pouch on his back, he had two new weapons, the battle net from the Briggs Society and a second net he had woven himself. Teag’s version was knotted with magic and soaked in colloidal silver.

We each had one more, new weapon. The day after I had gotten out of the hospital, Teag and I found a package from the Briggs Society that contained two unusual-looking weapons that were a cross between a knife and a pair of brass knuckles. The note with them just said, ‘Best, Archibald’.

Sorren made an initial walk around the perimeter, and then stood to one side, watching and ready. He wore two swords, and a couple of knives. And as a vampire, he
was
a weapon.

We hunkered down, waiting.

I worried that Sariel and his Nephilim might have spotted our cars, despite the efforts to hide them. I’d forgotten something important: fallen angels can fly.

One by one the Nephilim landed, each of them with darkly handsome faces and ruthless eyes. Coffee Guy was back for a replay, and so was Painting Creep from the Archive, along with the other five Nephilim Chuck and I had fought at the nursing home. Seeing them again was lousy enough, but Ebony was there from the Briggs Society artwork and a new one I hadn’t seen before with long, sandy-colored hair. When they moved away from each other, Sariel stood among them, although I’m damned if I knew how he got there.

Scarred and twisted, Sariel had not weathered the centuries well. Sorren’s immortality came from being a vampire. The Nephilim were otherworldly creatures, and had never been men. Sariel’s long existence came from magic, and magic has a cost.

Sheer hatred glowed in Sariel’s eyes. His skin was marred by white scars that looked like branching lightning bolts, and mottled by diseased, discolored masses. He looked centuries old, but that didn’t make him less dangerous. I’d watched a lot of kung fu movies where the old guy whips everyone’s asses.

I felt the Watchers’ presence even before they touched down. A wave of crippling guilt washed over me, reminding me of every broken promise, every mistake, every time I let someone down.

It’s your fault all those people at the nursing home are dead,
the dark magic whispered in my brain.
You weren’t good enough. You’re going to fail now, like you’ve failed everyone who ever depended on you.

“Watchers,” Teag muttered. I was pretty sure he was right. Four newcomers were equally handsome to the Nephilim but they looked a little older, more distinguished, and moved with a grace that comes with wealth, power, and consummate self-assurance. If the Nephilim looked like underwear models, the Watchers looked like A-list movie stars. Homicidal, psychopathic movie stars.

Sariel, on the other hand, was butt ugly.

Bo’s ghost growled, and then I felt him nudge my hand. I looked down and met his gaze. My right hand went to the agate necklace, while my left felt for the spindle whorl in my pocket.
It’s a lie.
I struggled to cast off the Watchers’ magic.
I never failed Baxter, or Bo, or Teag, or Sorren, or Maggie –

With a deep breath, I drew on the powerful emotions and memories of my grandmother’s spoon, the wood I had taken for my athame.
Not true!
I concentrated on the resonance my touch magic read from the athame, the love and warmth and acceptance, the bond of family, and I gathered power from those images and thrust out with it as if I were hitting a plate glass window with my fists.

The Watchers’ illusion shattered. I saw Teag and Chuck shake themselves out of the trance. Daniel didn’t look fazed, and it occurred to me that he might not give a damn whether or not he let anyone down. Lucinda was still chanting. If the Watchers’ poisonous suggestions had any power over her, it did not show.

Sorren raised his head like a viper about to strike, and I saw malice in his gaze. I could only guess what guilt the Watchers had tried to lay on him, for the people he had killed and those he could not rescue. The expression on Sorren’s face said he had reckoned with regret and made his peace.

Game on.
Everyone seemed to move at once. A blast of white light came from one side of the clearing and then the next, and gray shadows flew through the air. Three of the Nephilim screamed as Chuck’s explosives fired flexible metal nets that wrapped Baldy, Crow, and Coffee Guy in silver-coated mesh.

Teag and I attacked. Teag’s sword blade passed easily through holes in the net, running Crow through the chest. I loosed a blast of fire from the walking stick at Baldy, setting him aflame as he struggled to free himself from the net that burned with silver and hot metal. Chuck leveled his ray gun and sent lightning bolts blazing toward Coffee Guy, electrifying the metal net and sending blue sparks into the air.

The fourth Nephilim, Asian Dude, ran at Daniel, who had his high-caliber magiked-up handgun out, and he started blasting away. Being corporeal is a bitch; bullets hurt. Chunks of the fallen angel’s flesh flew off in a bloody spray, bones shattered, but the infernal thing didn’t stop coming until Daniel put a silver-tipped bullet through its head and shattered its skull. The corpse vanished.

One down. Eight to go—plus the Watchers.

I felt the tendrils of the Watchers’ power trying to creep back into my brain, hoping to slow me down with remorse. I tuned in my power to my agate necklace and my onyx bracelet, and the tendrils receded.

The Nephilim were tearing their way through the nets. Boy, were they pissed. Red, seeping welts criss-crossed their skin, and their fingers were bloodied and slashed to the bone where they had pulled the chains apart. Coffee Guy’s pretty face was ruined, as if the murderous look in his eyes didn’t already spoil the effect. He was already starting to shift to his true, purple-skin, winged bat-out-of-hell form with savage claws and powerful muscles. The other Nephilim were shifting as well, while the Watchers stood back, letting the foot soldiers take the first assault.

I recognized the Nephilim heading for Teag. He was Ginger, one of the fallen angels at the nursing home, and so was Blondie, the monster running toward Chuck. All I had to do was think about Helen Butler and all of the other nurses and patients who had died, and my blood ran hot. I sent my
chakram
flying and sliced through both of Coffee Guy’s wings, sending him thudding to the ground with a screech as the
chakram
embedded itself in the ground.

He was back on his feet quickly, stalking toward me and I knew from his expression he intended to finish what he started.

I grabbed the walking stick and blasted him with fire. I couldn’t hold it long, so I made it as hot as my anger, fueled by the memories of power in Alard’s cane and the images of those old ladies who didn’t deserve their fate. Coffee Guy let out an ear-splitting howl as his skin crisped and peeled away. I had to lower the walking stick and regroup or the magic would drain me dry, and when I did, Coffee Guy just kept coming. He was a charred mess, with blackened strips of skin hanging from his body and burned bone showing through the gashes, but he never slowed down.

Stay out of reach.
I had learned that lesson the hard, painful way. Coffee Guy dove for me, but I slipped past him. Without his wings, his advantage lay in strength and those long, sharp, tainted claws. I was fast and small, and my Kevlar and knife-proof shirt were more protection than I’d had before, but I wasn’t going to bet them against a supernatural boogeyman.

Coffee Guy swiped at me again, and this time, his claws raked against my shirt. I felt the pressure of their sharp points, but not the pain. The shirt worked. I’d figure out how to word that in a five-star online review later.
Repels hell spawn claws.
Yeah, that would go over well.

I wheeled, and this time I had Archie’s brass knuckle talons on my right hand. Nephilim hide is tough, but the blades were sharp as scalpels with a micron-thin coating of silver. I hit him with my full strength, clawing down through the muscles on his forearm to the bone.

I was covered in Nephilim blood, but the strike let me dance back out of his range long enough to drop my athame into my right hand. I dodged this way and that, making him follow me, until I had him where I wanted him, and then I channeled all my rage into my athame’s blast of cold, raw power.

It struck Coffee Guy square in the chest and threw him backwards – right onto the razor-sharp edge of my
chakram
, which was still lodged in the ground. He landed with his full weight and then some, driving the curve of the blade through his spine. Coffee Guy writhed for a moment and gave one last, hellish scream, before his body vanished. Two down, seven to go.