Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series) Page 24

  The descent loosened the tension of the mystic link. The searing pain receded as I fell through floor after floor, on my way to the parking garage.

  As if aware of my evasion, the cord drew tight again, adding a sideways pull to my ghostly fall through the building. I was a big fish being reeled in, being played by a skilled angler. In the ghost realm, I could even see the cord anchored in my chest. Like the cords used back at Spirit Ranch to control the zombie critters, the line on me had a deep violet core, wrapped with a black, soot-like radiance. Only this one was impervious to my cold fire. I slashed at it but the stuff refused to break.

  I increased to full speed, following the line with mayhem in my heart. My only hope lay in getting to Blaire before expected, and taking her out, hard, with extreme prejudice, something I would thoroughly enjoy. I barely noticed the rooms and people I passed. They were only distractions I couldn’t afford. I reached out and seized the cord, finding it solid due to the orange flames of my aura. Pulling myself hand over hand increased my speed even more, letting several yards trail me by the time I fell into the parking garage.

  Swinging my feet under me, I bounced off the concrete floor, bounding toward a gloomy corner of the garage. Once more wearing Ms. Griffin’s face and figure, Blaire waited in a clear area, a maroon Saturn behind her, probably stolen. In a few more jumps, I intended to leap for her face, going solid at the last moment so she’d never see me coming. Given time, she might sense me, so I wouldn’t give her any.

  Almost there, I noticed a pentagram painted around her and the vehicle. Cans of red spray paint rested near her. Inside the circle, between two star points, lay a smaller circle filled in with a mesh of lines, looking something like a dream-catcher. A guard passing through the area gave her and the hex sign a curious glance but kept going—having better things to do than get himself yelled at for questioning the boss.

  I expected to slam into some kind of protective barrier at the edge of the larger pattern, but the circle let me in. One leap to go, I sprung from the concrete, crossing back to the material world.

  Wanting her to jump out of her skin, I started a battle scream only to choke on it, as I found a surprise of my own. The second, smaller circle let me in, but not out. I hit an unseen inner wall and crumpled midair. I groaned over bruised ribs, a twisted ankle, and a slammed elbow, dropping to the concrete. I lay there, not even trying to get up.

  Blaire’s malicious cackle buffeted me like bat wings. Heels clicking, she walked over to me.

  I sat up, glowering. The only bright spot was the sudden disappearance of the cord from my chest.

  She squatted near me, my missing locket dangling from its chain in her hand. Her other hand held a second swinging object, a finger of clear crystal. She swung it past me. The stone swung up to point at the sunglasses clipped to my shirt’s neck. She’d scryed out the GPS locator Virgil had given me. “Throw the glasses away.”

  “Or what, you’ll trap me in a magic circle?”

  Her eyes glittered coldly. Her thumb rubbed my grandmother’s locket, tracing some unseen rune. “I’m guessing this means a lot to you. The emotional energy stored within is very potent.”

  I said nothing.

  Her hard tone turned sweet and cloying. “It would be a shame if something irretrievably terrible happened to it.”

  I grabbed the glasses and tossed them to the side. They had no trouble escaping the pentagram. “There, now give me the locket.”

  “No, I think I will inter it in my daughter’s grave—along with your cold heart after I’ve cut it out, but there’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, we need to hurry things along before security returns.” She put the crystal away and drew a gun from her waistband. It had a silencer screwed onto the barrel. “I need you, but you don’t have to be in perfect condition. Give me trouble and you’ll be carrying lead in a few non-vital areas of your body.”

  “Hold it right there!”

  My eyes sought out the voice, finding the real Ms. Griffin approaching, Van Helsing a step behind her.

  I’m saved!

  Blaire slid behind me, an arm across my throat, her gun jabbing a kidney.

  Maybe not.

  Ms. Griffin raised an empty palm toward the concrete ceiling of the garage. A cold sphere of witch-light appeared. The moon-blue orb rolled off her hand, hovering in the air. As its icy glow painted Blaire, her glamour melted away, showing her true features.

  Van Helsing had a gun clutched in a two-handed grip, its muzzle locked on Blaire’s face, pointing way to close to my head as well. “Let her go,” he yelled. “Now!”

  Blaire was chanting in my ear. The sound was slick and sibilant, no language I’d ever heard. It chilled me, making my breath catch in my throat. What is she trying to do?

  The witch-fire Ms. Griffin had poured out, shivered, quivering. Its silvery blue dimmed with a sour green shift of color taking over. The globe darted to the concrete between Ms. Griffin and Van Helsing, exploding on contact. Thrown away, they crashed in a heap and lay motionless except for the slight rising of chests that told me they were still alive.

  And still, Blaire chanted, her head rolling back, her arm loosening with self absorption. What else was she trying? The air turned cold, even to me. A new presence had joined us. Elita’s ghost? Like she can stop me.

  My aura was depleted, but I could still access the ghost realm. I reached for the folds of space, twisting myself to safety.

  Only it wasn’t safe. She had a familiar spirit, a demon. It grinned at me with jagged teeth, its black body crooked and burnt as if from some awful heat. Its hungry eyes were black stones. A kind of dancing shadow flickered over its body in place of an aura. Ragged, tattered wings, leathery and ribbed, jutted from its back.

  My hands trembled. My stomach sat inside me like a small, icy ball. A shiver licked down my back as my heart pounded ever faster as if working up to an explosion. My breathing raced, as my mouth dried. I stared, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t look away. I’d seen demons before, but usually from afar. Smart people don’t let them get this close.

  It reached for me, but the smaller circle held its hand back.

  That didn’t comfort me. In an instant, Blaire could jerk away this small protection.

  The demon chuckled. “There are worse things than dying, and levels of pain you cannot imagine. Go back before she gives you to me.” Its breath smelled of rank road kill sautéed in sulfur.

  I crossed back, happy to only have a witch to deal with.

  “Are you done playing now?” Blaire asked.

  “For now.”

  “Then lie on your stomach.”

  I was willing to wait for a better time, when the demon wasn’t cutting me off from the ghost realm. And it occurred to me that being captured was a good way to get to the heart of ISIS’ operation. Hadn’t that been my goal all this time? I stretched out, feeling the chill of the concrete through my costume, though it didn’t affect me. My arms extended past my head. “Happy?”

  She stood beside me, and squatted low. “Oh, Yes.”

  Pain exploded in the back of my head.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I groaned. My head pounded as I pushed off of a hard surface. Wood … slats with gaps in between … a bench. I felt the back of my head. There was a goose egg and hair stiffened with dried blood.

  The bitch pistol-whipped me!

  Righteous indignation gave me the strength to move. Sitting up, I swung my bare feet down to a concrete floor. My questing toes found a sheet that might have been thrown over me, and later kicked off in my sleep. I could think of no other reason fore it to be there.

  Cutting the gloom, a fan of light spilled in where a door had been left ajar. The light let me identify lockers like you’d find in P.E. class for changing clothes. Elsewhere, a corner of the room had been partitioned into a shower with an open, plastic shower curtain. Above the shower, I saw exposed plumbing. The walls were drywall, unfinished, giving this area the fee
l of a basement conversion.

  Where am I? More importantly … why am I naked—yet again— and not chained to a wall somewhere? Not that I want to be chained up.

  I forced myself off the bench and crouched, holding my head as the room spun just a little. I gritted my teeth, snatched up the sheet, and wrapped it around me.

  Waking up in a strange bed—you’d think I’m my sister. We fought all the time, but I was suddenly hungry to see her face. I wondered if I’d ever see any of my family again.

  Gold-fire eyes opened in the back shadows of my mind. You have me.

  “Don’t remind me.” I took a step toward the door, listening carefully.

  You’re going to need me, you know?

  “Yeah? Where were you when The Blaire Bitch was jerking my chain, sicing her pet demon on me?”

  Demons are no one’s pets. They only pretend to serve. And you were not in mortal danger—that’s still coming.

  “I’m not waiting. I’m getting out of here, wherever here is.”

  You need the ghost realm for that. Taste the air.

  I did. It was cold, bitter, and somewhat curdled.

  The demon’s still keeping an eye on you for the witches, Taliesina said.

  “Then I need a Plan B.”

  You need to be patient. The witches have brought us into striking range of their vitals. We need to stay put. Cassie will find us and bring help. Then we strike! She sent me the mental image of a fox streaking across brittle, frost-coated grass, snapping up a field mouse, crunching it happily with sharp teeth.

  Ewwwwww! I almost gagged.

  Throwing out the mental image, I thought about Cassie coming to save the day. “Drew’s more likely. Her gift’s finding lost things, like me. And Jill could always turn up something on Elita’s hard drive.”

  The door swung open. The light spill became a torrent, aggravating my headache. Two female shapes stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  Taliesina closed her golden eyes, retreating, laying in wait for more urgent problems. I was on my own.

  No, I’m not. I’d trained with Shaun. His velvet voice caressed, even from memory. Ninety percent of winning is being unpredictable.

  The women’s shoes clomped loudly as they approached. “Who were you taking to?” one of them demanded.

  “Myself,” I said. “I can’t depend on you guys for intelligent conversation, now can I?”

  One of them lunged with a taser, a thread of electric fire crackling between its prongs.

  Shaun’s voice continued, …Strike from where you’re not expected, slide away from direct attacks.

  I angled my body, sliding right, batting at the hand with the taser. I shoved the first woman into the other one. They went down in a tangle as I ran for the door, tasting copper, the metallic tang of adrenaline diminishing pain, speeding up my heartbeat and reactions. I wasn’t used to fearing ordinary people, but then, I’d always had my own private ghost world as an escape route.

  I almost made the door, but Blaire entered, ramming a knee into my gut. I’d been moving too fast to avoid it. Bent over, I shifted to the side, trying to slide past her. She moved with me, slamming me across the neck and face with a forearm. I fell hard. My headache went up a few notches. My face stung.

  First Serena, now this lunatic … why is it always the face?

  Blaire grabbed my hair and lifted my throbbing head, craning my neck painfully. A malicious smile twisted her face. “You just got here. Stay a while.”

  The guards joined us, seizing my arms, jerking me to my feet. I clutched the sheet I wore, managing to keep most of it in place—about all I could do at the moment.

  Blaire stared coldly at them. “If you can manage it, get the prisoner into the shower. We can’t have the tank corrupted with impurities.”

  The women reddened in the face. In unison, their voices broke hard and crisp with a military edge, “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The tank … a drunk tank? Solitary confinement would be a relief.

  They hustled me to the shower. Above a plastic curtain, a swan neck ended in a nozzle. I was shoved in to stand over a grating. A guard jerked away my sheet as I spun to face her. The other smiled and turned the water on. A cold stream gushed over me as they closed the curtain. My wings fluttered as if in annoyance, but the rest of me didn’t flinch. I’d walked the ghost world most of my life. I’d felt the icy grasps of phantoms. I knew true cold. This wasn’t it. If they wanted to draw a whimper or scream from me, they’d need to be more creative.

  “There’s no soap in here,” I hollered.

  “The bottle on the shelf!” someone yelled back.

  I found the bottle, a product claiming to be body wash, shampoo, and conditioner all in one. I was skeptical. Holding the bottle, I slid down a shower wall, hugging my knees. Hanging my head, I indulged in a moment of bleak depression. What if no one is coming? What if this is all more than I can handle? As the water hissed and drizzled, the bottle slipped from my lax hand, rolling across the grating.

  I shook myself, and stood, drawing a deep breath. The shower had plastered my hair to my skull, rinsing out the blood. On the floor, the draining water was discolored for a while. I thrust the curtain open, my soggy wings hanging down my back, drip-drying, not drawing any comment. Stepping out, I held out my hand. “The sheet please.”

  It was tossed in my face.

  I draped it over me. The thing clung and dragged, but clothed was better than unclothed. I’d preserve my dignity and pride as long as possible.

  Hustled out of the room, I turned my face toward the pat-pat sound of rain on windows. They were very high. The angle was terrible for seeing anything other than sky. I still didn’t know where here was. Halfway up, the walls showed signs of a missing floor. A jackhammer and an abandoned tool box lay nearby. A little pile of dusty rubble was waiting to be swept up and hauled away. I was in a basement that had recently been lowered. Old flooring still skirted the elevator, a landing above my head that was reached by a flight of metal stairs. This landing extended over a ways. It held an industrial water heater, furnace, and an emergency generator in case power went out. There was a bright red gasoline can up there that offered intriguing possibilities.

  Bare bulbs dangled overhead, a line of them leading to what looked like a huge boiler. Putting that monster in down here seemed to be the reason for the changes. A second flight of steel steps went up to a metal platform supported by girders. This made the top of the boiler-thingy accessible. All kinds of pipes serviced the tank, running through a control station with indicator lights, dials, and monitor screens.

  A desk and sidebar held a laptop and printer. Someone occupying a high-back, swivel chair faced away from me, threatening the printer with a short crowbar. The printer did a good job of not looking scared. The chair swiveled. I saw an old woman with ash blonde hair turning silver. She wore a white coat, and picked up a clipboard, making me feel like I was back at the Human Potential Institute.

  “Welcome to the first ring of hell,” one of the guards said.

  The other laughed.

  Why am I surprised they know about Dante’s Inferno?

  They took me past the old woman, up the stairs, allowing me to pick up the dragging sheet’s edge so I wouldn’t slow them down. On the way up, we passed a glass window, as if the steel barrel were meant to serve as an aquarium. I climbed to the platform atop the tank. Groaning and huffing, the old woman struggled up the stairs to join my guards and me. Blaire didn’t follow; apparently she had other things to do.

  The steel deck surrounded the tank, leaving three feet of the cylinder to jut up like the conning tower of a sub with its hatch flipped open. I smelled water and Epsom salts. The tank worried me, but I faced my enemies and smiled. Grace under pressure, that’s me. “Interesting concept of time-out you have here,” I said.

  A glare of reflected light hid the older woman’s eyes, making her less than human. “Don’t be concerned. This is merely an entrance to your happy place. Lose the s
heet and put this on, young lady.” She held up a black body stocking with small capsules placed at various points.

  I hazarded a guess, “Sensors to monitor vital signs?”

  “Very good,” the mad scientist said. “We want to make you malleable, not shatter your mind.”

  A guard growled, “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”

  Wearing the suit was better than wearing the sheet, but there was a problem. I motioned at the thing they wanted me to wear. “I can’t get into that thing. It won’t fit.” The mad doctor grinned. “I assure you, the elastic material will certainly accommodate you.”

  I shook my head sadly at her. “No one told you about the wings?”

  “Wings?”

  I turned my back to them and dropped enough of the sheet to show them what grew out of my back. I fluttered the damp wings to let them know they weren’t fake. “These wings.” Pulling the sheet up, I turned back around.

  “I could cut them off,” one guard said. “I have my knife with me.” She sounded excited, hopeful even. “I’ve done field surgery before.”

  I found it suddenly hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. Hard not to run off screaming. I trusted Fenn to cut them off, but not G. I. Jane here. Unfortunately, I had nowhere to go except into the tank. Too bad my wings weren’t strong enough to let me fly away—that would have been so cool.

  “No,” the old woman shook her head, “I’ll just get some scissors and cut out the back of the suit. A simple fix... Besides, I’ll want to study the wings in an attached state first. I can always remove them post mortem.”