Raven Cursed: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (28 page)

Door closed behind Evangelina with soft click. Saw short straight handle, like limb, on door. Jane said,
Lever handle
. I leaped to land on bank and crouched, pawpawpaw, silent up steep bank. Found place under thick bush to watch.

Evangelina had a witch circle on the ground, round trench dug out and lined with white quartz stones as big as Beast-paw. She lit little lanterns at four points of circle, flames flickering. Smaller stones made lines inside circle, like words Jane reads.

Compass points,
Jane thought.
But not English words. I can’t read it. I don’t know what it is.

I moved into shadows and crawled across cold ground, belly low and shoulders hunched, closer to house. Two leaps from house, settled into tall stalks, flowers up high, moving in breeze.

Evangelina was sitting in middle of circle, facing lines that were not words, legs crossed, bowl in her lap. Pink diamond rested on stone before her. Glamours and spells misted over her, bright pink and color of blood in Jane-sight. Not easy to see red with Beast eyes. Black lightning flashed through the mist, which grew like storm clouds in sky, bigger and bigger, out of nothing. Sparkling mist seemed to flow through the air, over diamond, and back, breathing through witch’s body as if alive.

Evangelina said a word. It sounded like, “Ansuz.” A ward came up, billowing from the mist around her body, blood-colored and dappled with black clouds. The clouds sparked and snapped like electricity, as the ward curved over her and closed. Evangelina sighed.

The witch removed lid from bowl; it was full of blood. Much blood. Evangelina said strange words, not in Jane’s language. “Fayhoo. Eeesaw. Fayhoo. Eeesaw. Fayhoo. Eeesaw . . .” Chanting. She put hand in bowl of blood and raised it, cupped. Dripped it over the pink diamond. Her chanting grew softer. Sleepy-sounding.

I panted silently as heart rate sped. Jane cursed inside of mind. I watched house. It was dark and empty, windows looking at world like dead eyes. Gathered limbs tight, eyes on porch.
What are you doing?
Jane asked. I leaped. Landed on bare patch of ground. Leaped again, landing on porch. Whirling around, long powerful tail whipping for balance. Evangelina was still chanting the two words, her back to house. She poured blood over her own head. Foolish witch, like kit with first kill, climbing inside to eat. Hard to clean pelt after.

I sniffed. Blood did not smell of witch. Nor of anything Beast knew.
Strange blood.

Spelled blood,
Jane thought.
She’s done something to it.

I lifted a paw and unsheathed claws. Hooked lever. Lifted. Door opened. I liked lever opener of door. I raced inside. Door closed quietly behind me. I raised up and looked out window. Evangelina was still sitting in circle, her naked body running with blood.

I padded through the house, food room, eating room, sitting television room, room for computer with table for writing. Two rooms with beds, one with faint smells of many humans, one for Evangelina. It was large with big bed, dead trees at corners, tent top above.
Silly to have tent over bed in room with ceiling.
Jane laughed. Chair, bathroom, closet, clothes everywhere on floor. I stood at door, pulling in air through mouth in soft screeing hiss. Stopped. Tasted air again.
Vampire Lincoln Shaddock and much blood and sex.

Crap. Molly’s going to have a cow,
Jane thought.

Beast wants to hunt and eat cow. Like bison but easier to kill. Jane says no. But
Molly
can kill cow?

No. Molly won’t—
Jane made air breath sound in mind.
Never mind. Upstairs. Quick. Please,
she added. Jane was trying to be good beta when Beast was alpha. I turned and padded to stairs, long tail bumping hallway. Raced up stairs. Doors closed up here, but were levers in dark metal.
Bronze. Period reproductions,
Jane thought. I opened doors. One room piled high with things, dusty, old. One room was bedroom, dusty, not used. Bed had tall tree posts like Evangelina’s and tent on top.
Canopy,
Jane thought.
Decorated in pink and lavender. Curled photos around the mirror. An old laptop. CDs. Jewelry in a pile.
Crap
. It’s a teenager’s room.

Pulled door closed. Room for bathing and cleaning body was dusty too. Big house-den for one witch woman. Waste of den space. Last room at end of small hallway was different. Smelled scent from this side of door. Blood. I sniffed, learning scent. Male. Blood many years old. I pressed lever with paw and door opened. Room had wood floor, couch, table, TV. Smelled of cigar smoke. And old newspapers. And dead human.

Stepped carefully, slowly, inside. Blood was on floor, smell oldoldold. Chemicals had been used on it.
Clorox,
Jane thought.
Detergents
. I padded to back of couch and found rug there, against wall. Rolled up. Sniffed at end. Dead human was inside. Jane cursed, fear in her heart.

Beast is not afraid. Beast is not prey,
I reminded her. I turned and left room, pulling door shut with paw until it snicked closed, hiding dead man in rug. Checked other
doors. All closed. Padded up to third story. Door at top had round handle, not lever.
Will not be able to go here.

Ran down stairs. Saw door at bottom, not able to see going up. Low light came from around edges. Opened door to see stairs leading down. I stopped. Tasting, testing. Air sparkled like taste of lemon. Taste of onion. Bad taste, like sting of bee. Remembered bee landed on food. Ate it. Hurt for long time. Could smell nothing here but bee smell. Nose curled. Hacked. Sneezed. Bad taste/smell. Heard soft groan. Sound of breathing, snoring, came up stairs, with light from room at bottom. But stairs were dark. Unlit.

Good thing we aren’t in a bikini,
Jane thought,
or this would be seriously dangerous.

Did not understand Jane’s laughter or Jane’s fear. Stepped over threshold. Checked door handle, to see if I could get out. Good lever handle on both sides. Started down stairs. On wall at end of narrow stairs I saw a picture in frame. Jane slowed to study it. I let her be alpha. Jane thoughts flooded my mind.

I drew on my human sight. The painting was a depiction of a witch circle with a pentagram in the center; there were adults standing at the points of the pentagram. The female participants were dressed in belled skirts, big sleeves, and corsets that came to a point below the navel. The males wore knee pants, lace and satin, big-buckled shoes, and white wigs piled up high. And all had fangs. Lying in the center of the pentagram were two human-looking children, naked and bound. One of the wigged and goateed men held an athame over them. On his chest he wore a gaudy, heavy, gold chain set with a thick casing holding the pink diamond—the blood-diamond—the casing shaped of horns and claws. It looked barbaric, brutal, and powerful, an artifact from a distant time and place.

I knew this painting. It was a depiction of a black magic art ceremony intended to bring vampire scions out of the devoveo, the state of insanity they entered into when they were turned, and which they endured for ten years or so, until they found themselves again amidst the bloodlust of vamp-hungers. I nudged Beast down the stairs, slowly. As
we moved, more paintings appeared on the white-painted basement wall ahead, all hung at the same level.

I had stolen these paintings from the vamps who had killed witch children. There were fifteen, a batch of seven from one century, the fifteenth century, I thought, and seven from the sixteenth century—or maybe it was sixteenth and seventeenth century. The only thing that mattered was that this was art from two time periods that had been used to chronicle experiments of black magic—blood magic. I had given them to Evangelina to destroy or store. Not to use.

Beast padded into the basement room. Whoever was breathing and snoring, wasn’t in here. There was no furniture, no washing machine or dryer, nothing except walls and ceiling, which were painted white, and the floor, which was painted black . . . and the white witch circle in the center of the room. The paintings on the walls were equidistant apart, and were arranged according to century. Though the fashions changed, the people in the paintings did not. They were the vampire witches, the Damours, Renee and her brothers—and husbands. She had married her siblings. I’d helped kill them.

In the earlier paintings, the female vamps wore high-waisted, slender dresses showing a lot of cleavage, delicate shoes, and lots of natural-colored hair. The adult Damours were depicted through the ages, and sometimes their whacked-out teenaged children. In some paintings, the teens lay in the center of the witch circles and pentagrams, vamped out and clearly raving; in others, they were outside the circles. And there were always the sacrifices. In several paintings, the sacrificial witch children were dead, their throats cut, lives forfeited in the pentagram’s center. In others, they were being drunk from as they died.

The experiments had changed in each depiction. In some, the circles and pentagrams were made by cutting into the earth, as if with a spade. In others, the circles were made with other things: powder or flour, feathers, flowers, broken stones, pebbles, shaped stones, bricks. The sacrificial athames in the older depictions were steel. The most recent ones were silver. One painting showed the long-chained teens ripping out the throats of the sacrifices and drinking
them down. In another, the husbands and their two children were inside the circle, savaging a second man. Two younger, fangless children were being sacrificed by Renee Damour, the mother, a silver knife held high.

The fourteenth painting was different from the previous ones. In it, a vamp raced downhill, white dress flying back with her speed, eyes blazing, holding a flaming cross. Sabina Delgado y Aguilar, the vampire priestess, coming to the rescue, vamped out, her face in a rictus scream of pain, her arms on fire, flames licking toward her body. The vamps in the circle were running away, faces full of terror.

The fifteenth and last painting came from the 1970s, just before the advent of digital cameras. Vamps hadn’t had the use of silvered mirrors or silver-based film, so, until recently, if they wanted to see themselves, they had to pay for art. I had killed the Damours, the original owners of the blood-diamond amulet, to keep them from killing Angelina and Little Evan. I had done what seemed wise in giving the paintings to the strongest, most ethical witch I knew, the children’s aunt. And she had stolen the diamond and reunited it with the paintings. But Evangelina was not a vamp with vamp children, and she was no longer ethical. What was she doing with all this? Nothing made sense. The snoring grew softer as I stood there. Monotonous. It seemed to emanate from the back wall, from a thin, dark line, a narrow crack.

Beast took the last step to the black floor and stopped, paws together, neck outstretched, facing the white-painted witch circle in the center of the big room. The outline of the circle on the floor was covered in salt, sealing it, indicating that, when Evangelina left, she left a working in progress. As we stared, Beast took another step, and I felt a quiver pass through us, electric and painful. The ward over the circle flared, bright and sharp, red as blood. Stinging.

Beast hissed. The shock settled low in our belly, deep in our joints. And tugged. The room went brighter, whiter, as our pupils dilated. Beast took another step forward and stumbled.

Crap
.
Beast?
Black lightning and scarlet motes flashed through the ward, much like the
hedge of thorns
, a protection ward Molly had once made for me, and similar to one
Evangelina had made for Leo, back when she was still part of the witch/vamp negotiations. But Leo’s had been built like a cone which had stopped just short of the ceiling, and it hadn’t worked perfectly. This one was bowl shaped, a far stronger ward.

Beast took another step. Something dark flowed up from the center of the circle, like smoke, but cohesive. Like a shadow, but three dimensional. It threw itself at the ward. The lightning coalesced at the impact point, blacker than night, flickering with purple and blue lights. Scarlet motes swarmed out and around the ward, as if looking for escape. The shadow fell back, expanded horizontally for a moment before reshaping. It looked vaguely like a person, one with extra-broad shoulders. Something about its form also looked angry and, maybe, hungry. The ward returned to its bloodred color and the lightning resumed its flickering.

Beast’s breath sped up, panting. Hunger lanced through her stomach and bowels. She took another step toward the
thing
inside.

I realized that she had been spelled by whatever working was taking place in the circle.
Beast!
I shouted into her mind. Another step brought us within feet of the circle.
Beast!
When she didn’t react, and took another step, I reached out mentally and put my hands and feet into her paws. Balance was different. I’d never been in control of Beast and I/we stumbled. I sat us down, her body listing drunkenly. The floor had a chill to it on Beast’s backside, like bare stone. But at least we weren’t moving forward anymore.

I could still feel the call drawing Beast closer, and knew I had to get us back from the working, but I didn’t know how. Extending her claws, I pressed them against the floor lightly, as I studied the thing inside. It seemed to study me, though if it had eyes I couldn’t make them out and I had a feeling that I shouldn’t look for them. The thing was amorphous, or maybe multimorphous; I could see through it as it moved around the periphery of the circle, like a dog might walk around a cage, not touching the ward. It had a tail. Or a leash. As if part of it was being spindled out and anchored to the floor in the center of the circle.

On the floor, where the trail of darkness ended was something shiny and gelatinous. It had to be blood, though
I couldn’t smell anything over the tingly magic. I didn’t know much about witch magic, and I knew nothing about blood magic—what many called black magic—but I was pretty sure, based on the blood and the way Beast was acting, that this was a summoning spell.