A Shot in the Dark (12 page)

An explosion shattered the eerie silence, and it took me a second to recognize the sound of Cole’s gun. One of the things on my left was ripped away, sent asshole over appetite by my brother’s shot. Some part of me could hear him shouting my name, screaming for me to move move move! And not just Cole. All the guys were scattered across the front porch, caught somewhere between “What the fuck?!” and “Lemme at’em!” ’Cause face it, I’m the only one dumb enough to run headlong into something like that.

Another shot sounded, but there were too many of the things scrambling after me to see if it did any good. Three of them charged from my right, more than I could take at once, and just as I braced to take one or two of them out before they got me down, I was nearly flattened by two hundred pounds of brindle mastiff as he hurtled past me. Duke’s bellow added to the chaos, and the big dog tore into two of my attackers with a raging fury I never imagined he possessed.

I heard bones snap in those massive jaws, and not once did any of the creatures make a noise. The only voices I could hear were my buddies, Cole screaming at me and Marty shouting at Duke, and a panicked breathy shriek from the kid I was dragging across the clearing.

Duke seemed to grasp the idea of a fighting retreat, and as soon as he’d beaten the creatures back, he was at my side, a rumbling growl in his barrel chest but backing up step by step just as I did.

My heels hit something solid, and for a split second, I just knew I was done for. Then hands reached past me to grab Zane, to haul him up the porch steps and inside. Somehow, we’d made it. I slashed at two more of the things that were bold enough to come within my reach, and they danced back. Duke gave a lunge, and they scattered farther. I made a grab for his collar, keeping him from chasing after them. That’s what they wanted.

The silent ring of . . . things crouched there, just out of reach, watching us with an unearthly light behind their eyes. Their skin was pale, under the grime and gore, their shapes almost human in an emaciated, hungry way. Hairless, naked, gender only visible as a seeming afterthought. The one with the missing hand was definitely female, and the sight made bile rise in the back of my throat. The creature herself seemed oblivious to the limb that ended in a jagged stub, crouching amongst her fellows. A few of them rocked from side to side, breath whistling out of their throats. Keening, I realized. Howling without voices. And they sat there. Waiting.

Waiting for what?
The thought crossed my mind before I could stop it and I winced. I should know better than to ask that sort of question.

My answer came in the form of a pale man who stepped from the trees on the far side of the clearing. His suit was charcoal gray, but that was the only color about him. Everything was white, from his short hair, to his ivory skin. In the deepening dusk, he glowed, like some kind of cave-dwelling larva. Even his eyes seemed devoid of color until the moment they flared red.

Dimly, I knew that the creatures were withdrawing, skulking and cringing in the presence of this demon. I knew he was their master. I knew it because even I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and all he’d done was stand there.

There was something . . . so familiar about all that whiteness . . .

He smiled at me, raised one thin hand to point at me. In that moment I knew, and in knowing, I saw through the illusion. Every part of my body went instantly numb.
No . . .

In the space of a breath, he changed, a hulking white-furred form standing where the well-dressed man had been. On all fours, it flexed its vicious claws, tearing furrows in the forest floor. It swayed its head from side to side, flaunting the gnarled ram’s horns as big around as my thigh. Its muzzle wrinkled, exposing gleaming white teeth as it smiled at me.
Nonono . . .

It charged without warning.

I tried to move, but the signals just weren’t getting through. Just like every nightmare I’d had over the last four years, my feet were rooted in place, and my mind could only conjure a litany of, “
Nonononononononono!
”

The Yeti galloped at me, crossing the open grass in huge leaps and I knew, even against all logic, that I was a dead man. Knew it so strongly that when someone grabbed my shoulder from behind, I couldn’t even resist.

“Down!” Cameron shoved me aside like a sack of potatoes and leaped off the porch. Landing in a crouch, he slammed his palm against the ground.
“Consecro!”

The spell went off like a bomb. I saw the ripple—like heat waves on asphalt—as it passed outward in an ever-widening ring. I almost choked on the thick scent of cloves that burst into the air, and when the blast reached the Yeti, it picked him up and hurled him into the trees, shattering branches and bringing down a few smaller saplings.

Silence reigned, the world itself stopping to gape in astonishment. Standing slowly, Cam turned to look at me, his face almost as pale as the Yeti’s. “Inside.” Then he pitched forward, bashing his head against the porch as he collapsed.

Suddenly, I remembered how to move.

“Will!” I grabbed Cam’s jacket with one hand, feeling an absurd sense of déjà vu as I hauled him roughly up the stairs and into the cabin. “Will, I need you!”

“Busy here, Jess.” Once glance told me that both Will and Cole were up to their elbows in Zane Quinn’s blood. They couldn’t help me.

Finally remembering to drop my sword, I flipped Cam to his back, ignoring the blood flowing down his face. The gash over his eye was the least of his problems.

The first rule of offensive magic is that it comes with a price. The bigger the boom, the worse the penalty. And that was the biggest damn boom I’d ever seen.

Before I could even assess the damage, Cameron seized, his back arching until only his head and heels touched the floor. Every muscle in his body contracted at once, drawing his face into a grotesque mockery of his usual self, knotting his hands into useless claws. His breath escaped in one long, agonized hiss, unable to even scream.

Mira had had bad reactions to spells before. Severe hypothermia, raging fevers, this one time with hives all over her body . . . But I had never seen anything like this. This was how people died, doing this.

The seizure lasted maybe fifteen seconds, but when he finally collapsed to the floor again, I knew at once he wasn’t breathing. A quick listen at his chest confirmed no heartbeat either. Like every other muscle in his body, his heart had locked up. “Come on . . . don’t do this . . .”

I went through the motions like I was supposed to, pinching his nose and trying to force my own breath into his lungs. Then compressions, counting in my head . . . then breathe . . . “Can’t answer my questions when you’re dead, asshole, come on . . .” I knew I was bruising ribs, possibly cracking them, but I had to get his heart started again. Had to.

“Will, this isn’t working!”

“Try a precordial thump.”

“A what?!”

“Hit him in the chest as hard as you can!”

With a grimace and a silent apology, I drew back and slammed my fist into Cam’s chest with every bit of force in me. His eyes flew open, and he came back to us with a ragged gasp that ended in a fit of rough coughing. I helped him roll onto his side, where he curled into a pained little ball, and then I finally got a chance to look around the room.

Will and Cole were still working over young Zane, using whatever we had in our meager first aid supplies. Granted, thanks to Will it was better than Band-Aids and iodine, but we weren’t equipped for . . . this. I couldn’t tell what injuries the boy had, but there seemed to be so much blood, much more than a fifteen-year-old body could hold. The kid was conscious, sobbing. That at least was a good thing.

Oscar was huddled against the kitchen counter, watching helplessly as my brother and best friend worked over his son. The older man had a glazed look to his eyes, and I wondered where his mind had gone to flee the bizarre events he’d just witnessed.

Marty had his arms wrapped around Duke, presumably to keep him from bolting out the door again, but the big dog didn’t seem inclined to leave anymore. His striped sides heaved, panting after his brief encounter with bravery.

“Are they . . . are they still out there?” Cam’s voice came out hoarse and raspy, and he struggled to sit up. It was a decent question. I retrieved my sword as I stood up, moving to look out the window.

The clearing itself was empty and peaceful, and if you ignored the trail of bent and bloodied grass where I’d pulled Zane to safety, it looked like nothing had ever happened.

“I think they’re—No, wait.” They were there, just inside the shadows of the trees, slipping from trunk to bush like mottled ghosts. I couldn’t see the Yeti, but whatever those other things were, they were still out there. Though it seemed a futile gesture, I kicked the cabin door shut and locked it. “They’re still out there, but they’re sticking to the tree line.”

Out of habit, I retrieved my scabbard and went to sheathe my sword. Only then did I realize that there was something dark and thick dripping off the blade. I dipped my fingertips in it, and they came away sticky. I smelled it. It was definitely blood. Old blood, maybe, clotted and sickly sweet with decay, but blood. My gaze went out the window again, to those half-seen shadows in the trees.

Demons didn’t bleed. What the hell was out there?

8

T
he mystery outside was going to have to take backseat to the mystery inside. I wiped off my sword on the remnants of Zane’s T-shirt, then sheathed it, turning to watch Cam struggle to his feet, one arm wrapped around his undoubtedly sore ribs. For a guy who almost died, he was moving pretty good. He was also leaving a bright red trail across the floor. Head wounds bleed like a bitch.

“Dammit, you’re bleeding everywhere.” I moved to grab some bandage and gauze from Will’s first aid pack. Cam made it to a seat at the bar and mostly fell onto it. “Hold still.” Bandaging head wounds I could do.

The cut was deep, and probably should have been stitched. Hell, even superglued would have been good, but Will had used all that we had on Zane. At any rate, Cameron was going to have another scar on his forehead. And since he couldn’t exactly get away while I was taping his head shut . . .

“What did you do?” He didn’t look up, but there was a faint twitch to his brows that said he was listening. “That wasn’t an amateur spell. What did you do, Cameron?”

Once I released him, passing him a towel to mop his face with, he leaned his elbows on the bar, mostly to prop up his head. “I consecrated the earth. We’re on holy ground now.”

Holy shit, pardon the pun. I moved so I could at least pretend like I was looking at his face. “You’re not an
ex
-priest, are you?”

Cam shook his head. “I need a glass of water.”

I fetched without really thinking about it. Instead of drinking it, he dipped a finger in it, murmuring under his breath. The scent of cloves filled the air again. I snatched his hand away from the glass, holding it firmly by the wrist. “Hey! Are you out of your mind? You’re gonna kill yourself!” Magic drew from the caster’s life force. Mira had drilled that much into my head. Too much magic, and the user would just drop dead, their very life given for their craft.

The possibly ex-priest shook his head again and tugged free of my hold, pushing to his feet. “Just had to bless it. Need to ward the doors and windows.”

“Why? If the ground is consecrated, they can’t get close.”

“It won’t last.” He wavered on his feet, and I caught him by one arm, sloshing the now-holy water over his hand. “Takes about six priests to make a consecration permanent. The boundary is going to shrink as time goes on. I need to set up wards.”

I glanced out the window. Night had fallen, hiding the clearing from view. Didn’t matter. Even if I couldn’t see him, I knew the Yeti hadn’t gone. “How long?”

“Hmm?” Cam definitely wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Understandably. We were gonna have to keep him awake tonight, watch for a concussion.

“How long until the spell breaks?”

“A day? Day and a half, maybe? I wasn’t exactly prepared.” With dripping fingers, he traced a symbol on the front window.
“Sepire
.
”
The unfamiliar word prickled over my skin like static. I guess that answered the question of who had warded his apartment.

“Can you renew it?” I knew he couldn’t. The first one nearly killed him. Repeating it almost certainly would. But I wanted to know if he’d tell me the truth.

“I could. But I wouldn’t survive the backlash.”

“Dude! You need to see this!” Will’s voice reminded me that Cam and I were not alone.

I pointed a finger at him. “We’re gonna finish this conversation later.” Cameron just nodded and moved on to the next window.

Will and Cole were still crouched over young Zane, the boy’s face gray under the smears of his own blood. Normally, the kid looked a lot like his dad, the same wiry build, the same narrow nose. Zane’s hair was the same almost black that Oscar’s had been in his younger days.

But now, his eyes were wide with shock. There were shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. He’d managed to choke back his sobs into tiny, tortured hiccups, but his breath was still coming in shallow little gasps of panic. Will had patched him up with what supplies we had, but even I could tell that the kid had been chewed on good. His left arm was bandaged from knuckles to elbow, and his bare shoulders showed bite marks, clear up his neck. Not cute little love bites either, but eat-you-with-fava-beans kinda bites. Human bites, I noticed sickly. Most of them were swabbed in antibiotic ointment, and seeped a little blood through the darkening bruises.

“What’s up, Will?”

“Look.” Will tried to lift the corner of the bandages swathing Zane’s left forearm, and the kid flinched, whimpering, “Don’t.”

“
Shh.
Jesse can help, I promise,” Cole soothed, and I gave him an odd look. What was I helping with, exactly?

Will continued to peel up the white gauze, slowly revealing the edge of a black tattoo.