Ghosted, p.16
Ghosted, page 16
part #4 of Girl's Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting Series
This was the eye of the storm. She’d caught the attention of the three tempests. Now she had to hold it.
“I am Vanessa Chevalier Scott,” she shouted.
She placed her hand on her summoning belt, running her fingertip over the sigils for the whirlwinds.
She called out the true names of the storms. “I am Vanessa Chevalier Scott. You will obey me.”
“Mistress…”
“Mistress…”
“Mistress…”
Three times the word was whispered in her ear.
“Obey,” she said again.
And they did.
The chaotic whirlwind drew further away allowing entry of a gentle breeze. The breeze wrapped around her like a caress. She descended gently to the ground. Now she stood in her own safety bubble, clear and bright.
“Mistress,” the storms said this time speaking in one voice.
She motioned for the winds to part enough so she could see the Soul Eater inside his black bubble. He was only barely visible. His foul magic made him even darker than the black flames in the barrier.
The winds kept the flames away. The heat was another matter. Nessa had to shield her face with one hand. In the other, the Fudo Cord was bucking wildly, eager to attack.
“Let’s do it,” she told the cord. “Tsukamaite!”
The demon-binding cord flew from her grip so fast it scorched her palm. Straight and true as a javelin it flew only to bounce off the Soul Eater’s energy shield.
“No,” Nessa cried before calling it back.
Grabbing hold she spun it in a circle over her head flinging it again at the Soul Eater. “Tsukamaite.”
Once more the cord bounced off his shield returning on her command.
The dark bubble of black energy began to glow from within. It illuminated the Soul Eater. He’d tossed off his cloak, revealing a handsome young man. Fair-haired with a finely sculpted face. He looked like a young prince in a Renaissance painting. Except for the eyes. His eyes were as black as Nessa’s own.
He said something in a language Nessa didn’t understand and pointed. A blast of energy burst from his hand straight at her.
Nessa pushed the force of the storm in front of her.
His hex bounced off her shield now.
His features twisted and he bared his teeth at her.
The throbbing in Nessa’s head was escalating to a roar. This spell was sucking her dry. She’d never attempted to control three tornadoes while fighting a soul-sucking sorcerer. Their magical standoff couldn’t last. Even now she felt her power trembling with fatigue.
He looked beyond her, smiling. Pulling the darkness to him, he created a black glowing ball. The ball squirmed in his hands, arms and legs pushing against its skin. More of the gooey black fetches.
Why was he looking behind her?
Oh crap. Pim. Jun Hee. The quail.
He was going to hurt them.
Enough.
She’d been more panicked than angry at the start of the battle. Now she was mad. Nessa angry was a very different witch from Nessa frightened. Anger meant power thanks to long-dead mommy dearest.
If she unlocked the spiritual cage holding the Fallen Angel’s dark magic, she could destroy the Soul Eater. Nessa felt it instinctively. Sorcery was no match for divinity. Even the Fallen Angel kind.
This was why the Queen of Fire had singled her out. Her soldiers had reported Nessa’s display of power after the attack at the Queen of Air’s palace. She’d flashed her wings in full display. Not too many earthly beings had wings. The Queen figured out Nessa wielded enough power to defeat the Soul Eater.
And she did, too. Except… using her angelic power held risks. Not only could she alert Frank to her location but she could lose control. It had happened before.
She would have to take the chance. The Soul Eater was not killing anyone else tonight.
In her mind’s eye she pictured the iron cage where she kept the legacy of her mother’s curse. Sensing her focus, the curse threw itself against the spiritual bars of its prison, demanding to be set free. She turned the key and opened the door a crack.
Anger blossomed rich in menace. Power quenched her thirst, filling all the empty exhausted spaces drained by the massive spell. She let it come. A pair of enormous inky black wings burst from her back. The feathers shimmered, iridescent. She swept them forward fanning the flames in the Soul Eater’s barrier. She no longer felt the heat. She felt nothing except a glorious euphoria.
With a spell she did not even consciously realize she knew; Nessa willed her own barrage of flames into being. These were not hot. They were cold. Frighteningly, freezing cold as befitted a Fallen Angel’s legacy. She hurled the icy black fire at the Soul Eater’s barrier.
As she thought, sorcery was no match for divine magic. Her cold fire smothered his flames. The barrier turned to sparkling black ice before splintering into a million tiny shards. The wind took them, exposing the sorcerer within his protective bubble.
Moving his hands in an intricate gesture he conjured a spiky hex.
Spitting and sizzling the hex hurtled toward her. Instead of closing her wings to shield herself, she thrust both hands out.
The Soul Eater gave a cry of triumph.
Too soon.
Only inches from her, the hex abruptly slowed. It hovered for a heartbeat before coming into her outstretched hands as gently as a friendly puppy.
Nessa grasped it tightly. She whispered words that turned to frost as they left her tongue. The hex transformed from black to wintry white.
Every spell contains a tiny fragment of its maker. Part of the price magic demands. Skilled supernaturals can track a spell to its sender. Extraordinary supernaturals can capture the spell and send it rocketing back to the source. Cursed Nessa was extremely skillful.
A nudge from Nessa sent the hex speeding to its maker. At its core, this hex remained tied to Soul Eater. His barrier was created to keep others out, not contain his own magic. Otherwise, how could he fight? It barely slowed as it penetrated his barrier to shatter against the Soul Eater’s chest.
Crystal ice spiders swarmed from the hex. For a moment they covered him entirely. The ice turned red as they ripped into the sorcerer’s skin.
His arms flailed, wildly swatting at them. Flames sputtered from his fingertips like a lighter trying to catch the flint.
Spark, spark, spark.
At last the magic caught. Fire burst from his fingertips. Screaming in pain and rage he burned them. The fire dissolved the spiders into sticky silver puddles. The liquid clung to his body.
He screamed again, ripping at his shirt. The Soul Eater had created the spiders to secrete acid when they were destroyed. Unfortunately, he was not immune to his own spell. The acid ate into his flesh, leaving bloody red furrows up and down his chest and arms.
He was shrieking incoherently now. Soul Eaters probably had very few unnatural enemies. Failure was obviously a new emotion. He put his hand over his heart and pulled. Straining with effort, he wrenched forth a bright light. So bright Nessa had to squint to keep her eyes open.
The light expanded to fill the space between them. It pulsed, dividing into two halves. Those halves pulsed and split. Then again, and again. Within each of the lights, a shadow took form.
People?
No, not people, Nessa realized. Not in the living sense. Their despair struck Nessa like physical blows. These were the shades of men and women whose souls he had stolen. They wailed and cried. Beating at the air as if trying to escape their prison.
If the Soul Eater thought the shades could trap her in a web of desolation, he was mistaken. Frank the Fallen Angel was all about souls. Which meant so was Nessa when she was in this state.
She calmly sketched a glowing sigil in the air. When it was complete, she whispered a word. Soft and silky on her tongue. The sigil moved. It flexed and stretched as if it had been confined too long. Golden filaments spun out from its center to wrap around the shadow beings.
Screaming, struggling, flailing, they tried to escape.
“Pax,” Nessa said, almost hearing Frank’s voice in her head. “Pax. In Pace. In Pace.” Peace, she told them, be at rest.
All movement ceased.
“Pax,” she said softly again. “Pace.” Rest.
They went limp, collapsing into formless smudges wrapped in gold.
Nessa knew the instant they stopped fighting; she could absorb their energy. Take it back from the Soul Eater. Increase her own power tenfold. After all, Fallen lusted after souls. And here they were for the taking. Almost like a gift.
But she was not a Fallen. She was Vanessa Chevalier Scott. She had called the darkness to save souls, not steal them. Especially not these poor doomed men and women.
The Soul Eater howled. He was burned and bloody but not down yet.
He shouted a battle spell. The words turned into scythes as they left his mouth. The weapons flew across the space between them to cut away the golden threads. The bright lights faded to darkness taking the shadows with them.
Nessa twitched a finger. Now the scythes sped to her. She gathered them as if they were as harmless as dandelions in the wind. She flung them back at the Soul Eater.
They sliced into his protective bubble leaving jagged holes. Nessa had the satisfaction of seeing more blood run down his chest and face. His protective bubble flickered, energy dripping from it like the rivulets of blood seeping from his body.
Taking the Fudo Cord, she held it out.
The Soul Eater was frantically trying to craft a counterspell, pull more souls out of his bag of tricks. His power was waning. Nessa saw the souls were now struggling against him.
She no longer needed to touch the summoning belt to maintain control of the raging whirlwinds, not with so much power at her command. Holding out her palm, she called the lightning. It shot through the maelstrom to land in her outstretched hand. With only her will, she compressed it into a spitting ball of light.
She smiled as she threw it at the Soul Eater.
The lighting hit his wall like a shell from an artillery gun, shattering the final shreds of magic.
She hurled the Fudo Cord at the same time, “Tsukamaitte!”
His now pitiful defense was no match for the demon-hunting power of the cord. It shot straight and true wrapping the sorcerer in its embrace.
Abruptly the flames inside the whirlwinds sputtered. Like someone had turned off the fire faucet. In seconds they went out altogether.
The winds took the Soul Eater. He was powerless before them now. He tumbled wildly before soaring out of sight somewhere above Nessa’s head.
Taking a calming breath, she focused on breaking the summoning. Sending the funnel clouds back to the sky.
But did she really want to?
“Look at the power you command,” the dark curse breathed seductively in her ear. “Release the storms, let them run their course.”
“What a sight to see,” one part of her brain agreed, critically eyeing the raging mega-funnel cloud. It was a most excellent storm. She imagined the tornado sweeping over the city, sucking up cars, houses, whole buildings. The Soul Eater would be smashed to bloody pieces. So satisfying.
“Nessa, time to close the cage,” said a cultured British voice in her head.
“Is it?” she asked.
“It certainly is,” said the voice calmly. “You are not your mother.”
His words were like a kick in the stomach. Her mother had doomed her to this curse out of jealousy. Greedy for the elemental power of the Chevaliers.
No, she was not her mother. She was a good witch. Her Grandmother’s granddaughter. She did not destroy innocent lives for fun.
Pim, because his was the voice of reason in her head at times like this, joined his strength to hers from outside the maelstrom. Together they grabbed hold of the Fallen’s power and forced it inch by screaming inch back into the cage. The power fought but her will was stronger. One day she might not have the strength to contain it. But today was not that day.
With a mental click, she locked the darkness away.
She still stood in the center of the storm. Without the boost of power from her curse, she felt her energy draining away. The pounding in her head, the trembling in her legs threatened to overwhelm her. She was so tired. Something sharp was poking her in both eyes. Gently fingering her eyelids, she swore as she swiped away two tiny, crumpled balls.
God dang it. She’d burned out her blue contacts again. Now anyone could see her inky black eyes.
The fires were gone but the whirlwinds must be divided and sent back into the atmosphere. Taking a firmer stance, she pictured gripping the three tornadoes in her mind and separating them.
They resisted.
She repeated the process. Pulling them apart in her mind.
Nope. If storms could enjoy themselves, these were having a high old time. They began to inch toward the other side of the graveyard.
“Stop right now,” she said to them very much like Pim in his sternest mental voice.
They didn’t stop.
Narrowing her eyes and clenching her stomach muscles she pictured yanking them apart. Once again, they resisted.
No. Not the storms. The storms were listening to her. Something else was in there with them. Teasing her. Not her magic. Another’s. Its sizzling touch was unlike anything Nessa had felt before. It didn’t feel inimical. Not demonic or dark. She didn’t know what it felt like.
The Soul Eater flew by spinning wildly, still caught in the grip of the whirlwinds.
Oops, she had forgotten him for a moment.
Her Grandmother Hattie had taught her a trick in case a spell was hijacked by someone else. One only to be used in emergencies. A hijacked mega-storm seemed like an emergency if there ever was one. She put a finger on the sigil for the tempest, running it oh-so-slowly counterclockwise. At the same time, she intoned the true name of the wind backward.
This spell would force the magic to reverse. Only the spell was affected, not time itself. Even Fallen Angels didn’t have that sort of power.
Reluctantly it seemed, the massive funnel cloud returned to its position around the Soul Eater’s formerly flaming barrier. There was no flame there anymore, the storm was only repeating its movements.
In a booming, ground-shaking rumble the storm split. Now, the three original funnel clouds danced around Nessa.
Repeating the reversing spell over and over, she walked between the raging storms, pushing them forward. Pim ran over to join her. The tips of the funnel clouds danced over the ground ripping deep trenches in the dirt.
They zigged and zagged coming nearer and nearer their point of origin, the broken memorial. She vaguely heard Jun Hee’s voice. Why was he shouting? Forcing her concentration away from the spell, she saw he was being dragged across the dirt as the whirlwinds swirled at his feet. He was curled in a ball trying to protect the flock of birds.
Nessa ran to straddle him, knowing her presence would deflect the funnel clouds.
“Move back to the memorial,” she shouted at him.
He dragged himself on his elbows to curl up next to the remains of the memorial.
Elemental lore says the winds may not attack the summoner. They came damn close this time, though. When the spinning vortexes were almost on top of her, the funnel clouds lifted. With a final blast of energy, they shot back into the sky.
Nessa looked up in time to see the Soul Eater fall to earth still wound in the Fudo Cord. She held her breath until he landed with a frighteningly loud thump.
Fingers crossed Soul Eaters were as difficult to kill as she’d been told. Had Madame Valencia said she wanted him dead or alive?
Dang.
With the storms gone, she could hear the sirens. Every first responder in the city must be on their way. Nessa knew she should go to the Paladin. Get him. Get Jun Hee. Get moving. Fast.
Knowing and doing were two very different things currently. She swayed as the world tilted one way and then another. Pim was by her side, back in feline form. He reared up, putting his front paws on her thighs. A wave of strength passed from him to her. Supporting her in any way possible was his duty. Poor guy, he couldn’t have much more energy left than she did.
The world phased out of synch for a heartbeat. When she was able to focus again, the pounding in her head had lessened. It wasn’t gone, but thanks to Pim, it was more bearable.
She needed a big drink of something cold and sweet. All she had in her backpack was water. Water would have to do for now. She poured some in the little collapsible bowl for Pim first, then gulped down most of the rest. From the backpack’s inner pocket, she took out her cheap emergency sunglasses. She looked stupid wearing them at night. Better to look stupid than demonic.
She cupped Pim’s face in her hands, “Okay?”
He nodded, turned, and trotted to Jun Hee. Jun Hee was sitting up by the remains of the memorial, his arms full of quail. They were cheeping quietly. They must be okay.
The same couldn’t be said of their master. He had blood mixed with dirt on his face and hands and in his thick black hair.
Remembering the monstrous shaman shadow from the garage, she asked, “Tattoos all in place?”
He nodded. “For now.” His voice sounded strained.
She handed over the remaining water.
“Thanks.” He drained the bottle. “Why are you wearing sunglasses?”
She waved a hand in the air. “The fires, they hurt my eyes. You know, smoke and stuff. We need to go; the fire department is almost here.”
Jun Hee awkwardly got to his feet. The quail stayed tucked in his fleece jacket.
Nessa walked to where the Soul Eater lay. He wasn’t moving.
The Fudo Cord was wrapped tightly around him, just like Roland. Only the man’s eyes showed. They glared at her. Not dead. Nessa didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
His eyes were still as black as her own. Soul Eater magic must bleed their humanity from them. Only demons and Fallen Angels had eyes that black.
He didn’t bother to struggle. What was the point? He was enough of an adept to understand the extent of the Fudo Cord’s magic.
