J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough (28 page)

She tried to struggle to her feet while the distinguished older man stood over her shaking his head sadly. He didn’t move, didn’t try to help or hinder her. She made it to one knee, and then the chauffeur hit her like a charging linebacker, slammed her into the ground and landed on top of her with his full weight, knocking the wind out of her. She struggled futilely until he backhanded her, sent her to edge of consciousness. In a semiconscious haze she was barely aware of what he was doing as he rolled her over onto her stomach, pinned her arms behind her back, then hoisted her to her feet, picked her up as if she weighted nothing. He held her upright as the older man looked her over carefully.

“Hmmm!” he said. “What do we have here?”

Katherine could barely hold herself upright as the sexpot witch appeared, and for the first time she got a good look at the woman. She realized there was something truly unnatural about her beauty.

The woman grinned and said, “It appears we have a little witch.”

The older man reached down and took Katherine’s hand. He lifted it to his lips like a nineteenth century gentleman and said, “A tasty little witch.”

Then he kissed her hand like a courtier in some period drama, and as he fed Katherine understood his true nature: demon  . . .

Karpov arrived, as always, accompanied by Vladimir and Alexei. A heavy swath of bandages obscured Alexei’s left hand. Mikhail had heard rumors this new wizard had gotten the best of him, but knew better than to ask questions. The stupid bear, dangerous bear, had his pride, and only a fool ventured there.

“Well?” Karpov demanded impatiently as he climbed out of the car.

“The young woman went over the wall about a half hour ago,” Mikhail said nervously, afraid to add the rest but knowing he had to. “I’ve heard nothing from the estate grounds, but the Old Wizard is somewhere around. He gave me a message for you, said if we did anything that caused harm to come to his daughter, it would be open war between you.”

Karpov snarled and his eyes narrowed angrily. Men had died when he got that look. Mikhail added nervously, “I’m sorry, Mr. Karpov. There was nothing I could do.”

Karpov’s face softened and he smiled. “That’s ok, Mikhail. At least you got the brains to know you were outclassed. That’s why I like you. You got brains. Now Alexei here  . . .”

Karpov turned to the big, dumb bear, reached up and knocked on the side of his head like he was knocking on a heavy wooden door. “Alexei here, he got no brains.”

“Ya,” Alexei growled, grinning stupidly. “I got no brains.”

Karpov laughed. “Ya, he got no brains.” Karpov knocked on the bear’s broad chest. “But he got muscle. He got muscle here  . . .” He continued knocking on the bear’s chest, then reached up and knocked again on the side of his head. “And he got muscle here too. That’s why I like him.”

Alexei reached up and knocked on the side of his own head. “Ya, I got muscle here.”

They all got a good laugh at that, though that ended when Karpov demanded, “Where’s McGowan?”

Mikhail didn’t want to admit he didn’t know. But he was rescued by the old man who said, “I’m right here.” Then the old guy did that trick of appearing out of nowhere.

Karpov grinned unpleasantly and said, “So we are going to do this again, eh, Valter?”

McGowan shook his head sadly, and it bothered Mikhail that he did so with such confidence. The old man said, “I brought a couple of friends.” He looked over his shoulder and called, “Clark.”

The old man’s
weapon
stepped out of the shadows and Mikhail involuntarily tensed, though he was happy to see Vladimir and Alexei also tensed. Even idiots like Vladimir and Alexei knew better than to take the old man’s
weapon
for granted.

“We’re going to set some rules,” McGowan said. “The first one being, you start shooting at the wrong people, Clark starts shooting at you. And we all know you don’t want Clark shooting at you.”

Karpov shrugged. “Valter. We are all friends here. Of course your daughter’s off limits.”

McGowan added, “And the young man.”

Alexei erupted. “No!” he shouted and reached toward the old man angrily. But a shadow flitted between them, and a soundless, silent flash dropped the bear on his ass in the middle of the dark road.

The shadow said in a female voice with an Irish accent, “Control your children, Vasily.”

Mikhail had never seen his boss capitulate to a woman, but he did now. “My apologies, Colleen.”

Alexei struggled half way to his feet, but Karpov kicked him hard and he went down again. Karpov looked at Mikhail. “Like I said, Mikhail, no brains.”

Karpov turned back to McGowan. “The young man’s a demon, or possessed by one. He dies.”

The Old Wizard sighed wearily. With his
weapon
at hand, there was no question he had them outgunned. And with the druid, he also had them out-spelled. “Vasily,” he said calmly, one senior wizard to another. “I’ve had the young man in my home. He’s no demon, and I don’t think he’s possessed by one—”

“You don’t think,” Karpov snarled, interrupting him in a way none of the younger men dared, “but you don’t know.”

The two old wizards stared at each other for a moment, and McGowan broke the silence. “No, I don’t know. But I do know something doesn’t add up here. And I want the young man alive. We still take him, but we take him alive.”

That statement hung in the air for a long moment, until Karpov said, “Ok, Valter. We take him alive  . . . if we can. If we can’t  . . . then we take him dead. But we take him, and we will protect your daughter.”

McGowan closed his eyes for several long seconds, and when he opened them Mikhail saw the death of the young man there. “Ok, my daughter comes first. But we try to take the young man alive.”

Karpov shrugged that off happily. “Agreed!”

They stared at each other for several seconds, like two cats waiting to see which one struck first. Then the Old Wizard did that thing, and he and his
weapon
and the druid were just, simply gone. No exit required.

Karpov waited for a few seconds, then reached down to the bear, who’d wisely remained seated on the ground while the big predators held their little pissing contest. He helped Alexei to his feet, then twirled his finger in the air, his sign they were all to gather close. Karpov looked at Vladimir and Alexei and said, “You don’t shoot the young man. You get your hands on him you can hurt him all you want, but you don’t shoot him.”

The bear growled. Karpov gave him a look that meant he could die right here and now if he wanted to disagree, and the bear lowered his eyes. Karpov said, “On the other hand  . . .” and his eyes slowly drifted to Mikhail, “ . . . Mikhail here can use his special talents on the young man. You did bring your special talent, didn’t you, Mikhail?”

Mikhail nodded and smiled, reached under his windbreaker and pulled the twelve-inch knife he always carried. They all grinned in return. Even Vladimir and Alexei would think twice before taking him on when he had his blade.

“What did you learn?” McGowan asked as they walked away from the Russians.

“Not much,” Colleen said. “Big estate, walled on three sides, the bay, private beach and boat docks on the fourth. No guards patrolling the grounds, no wards I can detect, though I may need to get closer to confirm that. Seems like the house of an ordinary citizen, a rather wealthy and mundane citizen, but still, just that.”

She stopped walking in the street, which forced McGowan and Devoe to also stop, and to turn and face her. She dropped her shadows so they could look into her face. “But there’s something I’m missing here,” she said. “And it bothers me no end.”

Chapter 20: The Simple Way

Katherine drifted back to consciousness slowly.

“ . . . just his girlfriend  . . .”

“ . . . strong witch  . . .”

“ . . . neutralized  . . . salt water  . . .”

“ . . . alone  . . . no other intruders  . . .”

She found it difficult to shake off the weakness and lethargy that had overcome her. Her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and her mind refused to form a cohesive train of thought, all typical symptoms of a demon feeding.

Demon!
That thought brought a rush of adrenaline and fear. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped to her feet, only to be overcome by a wave of dizziness. The big chauffeur put his hand against her chest and shoved, and she fell back into the chair where she’d been seated. She rose again, and contemptuously, almost casually, the big man shoved her again, and she landed on her ass in the chair.

The sexpot witch snarled, “Keep her still.”

“Yes, Joachim,” the older man said calmly. “Please keep the young lady in her seat.”

Katherine would almost feel better if her hands and feet were tied and bound securely. That would indicate they had some concern she might be of danger to them. Instead, with casual indifference, they’d seated her in a wingback chair in a large room with books lining the walls and expensive furnishings, her clothing soaking wet, the taste of seawater still on her lips. They must have dosed her with another bucket or two while she was out.

She tried to summon power, and it gathered inside her, but muted and weak, like trying to hold sand cupped in the palm of only one hand. The sexpot called contemptuously, “Don’t waste your time, bitch.”

Katherine tried to calm her breathing and take in her surroundings. The chauffeur stood a few feet away, ready to slap her back down into the chair. Two metal buckets sat on the floor next to her chair, each obviously filled with more seawater. They intended to keep her heavily dosed, and weak and helpless in the arcane. The older man sat behind a large, ornate desk, the young woman standing before him. “No, master,” she said. “I checked the grounds carefully. She came alone.”

There was another wingback chair near the desk facing it, its back toward Katherine. She could just see the top of the head of someone seated in it. The color and length of the hair led her to believe it was a man, possibly Paul. He was completely still and silent.

Katherine looked again at the older man. She hadn’t sensed the nether life within him, even before they’d dosed her with seawater. The demon must be Secundus caste, very old and very powerful. No wonder there were no dogs patrolling the grounds. Dogs would go insane at the presence of a demon—it might be powerful enough to conceal its nature from a practitioner, but never from the sixth sense of a dog. And of course no powerful wards in the house or grounds. The wards of a home were anathema to a demon.

“Go ahead, my dear,” the demon said to the sexpot. “They’re so much more appealing when they’re angry and frustrated and frightened. Play your little games.”

The sexpot turned to the man seated in the wingback chair. Katherine felt the flow of magic as she released a spell. She saw the man shake his head and turn to look up at the woman. “Come, my darling,” the sexpot said.

Paul rose from the chair and shook his head groggily. He reached out and took the sexpot in his arms and kissed her. Katherine felt a wave of jealousy wash through her, though she had no right to be jealous if Paul wanted to fuck some slut.

The kiss ended and the woman pushed him away almost forcefully. “Later, my darling,” she said. “Right now we have a guest. I believe a friend of yours.”

She turned him toward Katherine and, holding his hand, led him across the room like a puppy. On instinct Katherine opened her
sight
, and almost vomited at the condition of his aura. There must’ve been a dozen spells wrapped and tangled into it, powerful binding spells all. She guessed at least one had to be an obsession spell. She could see its black-magic nature twisting and turning in his aura, binding it like the coils of a large python wrapped around its prey, squeezing and crushing the life out of it. Such horrific spells, in such strength and quantity, could permanently damage a person, and those who practiced them were no better than murderers and rapists. Practitioners kept themselves carefully guarded with personal wards against such spells, but Paul’s ignorance made him no better than a helpless infant.

And yet, Paul should be completely dysfunctional at this stage. Just one or two of those spells should’ve rendered him helpless and docile. Why did the sexpot witch need so many, and of such strength?

“Katherine,” Paul said wonderingly. He tried to pull away from the sexpot, tried to reach out to Katherine, but the sexpot pulled him toward her forcefully and put his hand inside her blouse. With her own hands she made him feel her up, and slowly he grew docile again.

During the brief interaction Katherine had seen his aura shift. The python constricting it had weakened for an instant, and only strengthened when the slut had shoved his hand in her blouse. Katherine realized Paul was resisting the slut’s magic, resisting it so well the sexpot needed a whole raft of such spells, and she also needed physical contact to maintain them, the more physical contact the better.

Katherine closed off her
sight
. She was helpless for the moment, so she’d have to bide her time.

Still holding Paul’s hand the sexpot stopped in front of Katherine’s chair. Katherine felt her pulling power, a lot of it, and Katherine realized this witch was stronger than her. With a dramatic wave of her free hand the witch released the power in a spell that enveloped Katherine, and even with the muting effects of the saltwater, Katherine felt an overwhelming compulsion to stand. She fought it, but slowly, struggling against the coercion of the spell, shaking with the effort to resist it, she climbed to her feet and stood facing the witch and Paul.

The chauffeur stepped toward her, thinking she’d stood on her own, but the sexpot waved him off with her free hand. “I can handle this, Joachim,” she said, a contemptuous sneer on her lips.

Katherine tried to speak, but the witch waved a finger and her throat tightened up. She looked at Paul, their eyes met and he frowned, looked carefully from Katherine to the sexpot, then back to Katherine.

“How poignant!” the sexpot said contemptuously. “Perhaps I should make the two of you fuck in front of us all, give us a good show.”

Rage boiled up in Katherine and she tried again to pull power, managed to coalesce little more than what a beginner might achieve.

The sexpot laughed and took one more step forward, still holding onto Paul. “Go ahead,” she said to Katherine. “Let’s see what you have. Go ahead, show me your petty magic. I’ll even stop hindering you, let you throw your pitiful skills at me without constraint.”

Suddenly the control and compulsion spell dissipated and Katherine could move freely again. But she knew full well that, even if not weakened by the saltwater, this witch was stronger than her. The chauffeur stepped back, clearly wary of being too close to two powerful witches throwing spells at each other, and Katherine realized there might be another way. She said calmly, “I have a special spell for you.”

“Oh really,” the slut said. “And what would that be, little witch?”

Katherine grinned and said, “Oh, it’s a very special spell. It’s called a nose-buster.” Then she put all her strength behind her arm and punched the slut in the nose.

Katherine had taken a brief interest in the martial arts in high school, mainly because a boy she was interested in was into that stuff. But she’d quickly learned it meant broken fingernails and bruises—not her style—so she gave it up after a few months of lessons, gave up on the boy too. But she’d learned a thing or two from those lessons: she knew how to throw a punch. She hit the slut with a full-blown knuckle-buster, not some limp-wristed girlie slap, but a hard, right punch with her shoulder behind it. It hurt like hell when she connected, but she got the satisfaction of feeling the crunch as she broke the slut’s nose.

The slut went down hard, right onto her back, even bounced once when she hit the floor. And still holding onto Paul, she dragged him down with her. Katherine danced about shaking her right hand shouting, “Owe fuck owe fuck owe!” as the chauffeur, probably still discounting her, instinctively lunged toward the slut to help her. Katherine ignored the pain in her hand, turned toward the two metal buckets, picked one up and tossed its contents all over Paul and the slut. The chauffeur recovered and spun toward her. She swung the metal bucket at him, but he blocked it with a forearm and backhanded her.

McGowan and Colleen approached a lighted window carefully. Colleen said, “I don’t like splitting up. We can’t trust those Russians.”

The old man looked at her and shrugged. “Clark’s with them. And trust me, he can handle ‘em.”

Colleen didn’t know this Clark Devoe fellow, didn’t have the same faith in the man as McGowan. They’d detected the security connections to the front gate, spelled those first so no one in the mansion would be notified when the gate opened, then spelled the gate itself and opened it. They’d left it open. They’d also detected, and neutralized, perimeter spells placed to alert a practitioner of the presence of an intruder. It bothered her that so strong a practitioner would place perimeter spells on the estate, but no wards. And this close to the house she could now sense there were no house wards at all.

She felt like some stalker as she peered into the lighted window while McGowan kept watch on the grounds behind her. The room was empty, and she was about to spell the lock when she suddenly sensed a strong and powerful demon-feeding. A moment later an anguished scream shattered the silence of the night. That was followed by the thunderous clap of one of those large guns the Russians carried.

She and McGowan both turned and sprinted toward the sounds.

Paul knelt over Belinda, and for the first time in days his thoughts cleared. For some reason he was soaked, and he could taste seawater. Belinda lay on the floor groaning piteously, blood pouring from her smashed nose, and as he looked at her all his memories of her came flooding back. He no longer felt the intense desire for her that had clouded his thoughts, never really had felt it, and he understood now it was some sort of magic thing, that she’d used him and manipulated him.

Suzanna knelt down in front of him, Cloe standing beside her.
Come, Paul, we have to run.

Yes, daddy. We have to run.

Piaul scanned the room quickly as Cassius stood up behind his desk and snarled, “Tie her up this time.”

Joachim stood over Katherine, who was lying on her back groaning and trying weakly to climb back to her feet. The chauffeur drew a leg back to kick her in the ribs. Paul shouted, “No,” and lunged toward him.

Paul had never seen anything move so quickly. In a single blink Cassius went from standing behind his desk, to standing in front of Paul. Paul’s momentum slammed him into the man, and he bounced off the fellow with no effect. Cassius reached out and wrapped both his hands around Paul’s throat, and lifted him off his feet like a child’s doll. Suzanna and Cloe beat at the man ineffectively as Paul felt that strange
pull
where Cassius’ hands touched his throat.

Blink.

Paul couldn’t understand why Cassius wanted to harm him. The man had appeared to be a friend, someone who wanted to help. But the
pull
was there, and Paul felt something flowing out of him into Cassius, and with it came a growing sense of weakness and lethargy. He reached up and gripped Cassius’ wrists, wanted to ask him why he’d turned against him.

Blink.

For an instant the man’s eyes turned goat-slitted and blood-red, and Paul realized he was facing a demon. Remembering Katherine’s warnings, he looked away from its eyes and concentrated on blocking the
pull
. He’d done that before, thought he should be able to do it now, but the flow continued unabated. Paul sensed a growing chasm opening before him and knew he couldn’t resist that
pull
, knew nothing could resist it.

Behind Cassius the two leprechauns appeared and danced around Joachim like two sparrows harrowing a large crow, trying to keep it away from their nest, in this case trying to keep him away from Katherine. Paul’s eyes drifted to the French doors at the far end of the room, and as the flow of the
pull
emptied him of all will to resist, he thought he saw Joe Stalin’s ugly, square face peering through the windows there, Vladimir with his greasy blond hair standing next to him.

The thunder and flash of Joe Stalin’s howitzer shattered the glass of the French doors. Something thumped into Cassius’ head and erupted out the other side carrying a splatter of bone and brains. With half his head blown away the demon staggered but didn’t fall, though the flow of the
pull
stopped for an instant. With Paul still dangling from its hands it spun about and threw a look of rage at the Russian’s spilling through the French doors.

Paul pulled on the flow, pulled hard with every ounce of strength he could muster in his spirit, and the
pull
reversed. Something slammed into Paul, a searing gush of pain and agony, with centuries-old memories of suffering and sorrow. Paul would’ve cried out, but with the demon’s hands clamped about his throat he could barely breath. But the lethargy that had overcome him dissipated suddenly, and turned into a sense of power and strength.