Spellcasters (19 page)

“Close it,” someone whispered. “For God’s sake, close it!”

I exhaled in relief. Shaw wasn’t a necromancer. Leah had probably simulated the noise in the coffin by moving something within it, hoping to trick a mourner into opening it and displaying Cary’s broken remains. Another grotesque prank, designed to slow me down, to stop me from getting to Savannah.

A moan cut short my thoughts. I was still bent over, pushing myself to my feet. Rising, I turned and saw the man who’d hurried over to close the coffin. He stood beside it, hand on the open lid, eyes round. Another moan shuddered through the room and for one moment, one wildly optimistic moment, I persuaded myself that the sound came from the man. Then a battered hand rose above the satin lining of the casket.

No one moved. I am certain that for the next ten seconds, not a heart beat in the entire room. Every gaze was glued to the casket. The hand grasped the side of the coffin, squeezed, then relaxed and inched down, as if stroking the smooth wood. Another moan. A gurgling, wet moan that raised every hair on my body. The tendons in the hand flexed as it grabbed tighter. Then Cary sat up.

In the dimness of that room, there passed a brief second in which Grantham Cary, Jr., looked alive. Alive and whole and well. Maybe it was a trick of the darkness or the deception of a hopeful mind. He sat up and he looked alive. Lacey let out a gasp, not of horror, but of exultation. Behind me, Grantham senior sobbed, a heartbreaking cry of joy,
his face fixed in such a look of longing, of hope, that I had to turn away.

Cary lifted himself out of the coffin. How? I don’t know. Having seen him after his death, I knew that there shouldn’t be an unbroken bone in his body. Yet I understood little of this part of necromancy. I can say only that, as we watched, he struggled from the coffin and stood. Then, as his form caught the light, that blessed illusion of wholeness evaporated.

The morticians had done their work, cleaning away the blood and gore … and it did nothing but unmask the monstrous reality of his injuries. The opposite side of his head was shaved and torn and sewn and crushed, yes, crushed, the eye gone, the cheek sunken and mangled, the nose—no, that’s enough.

For a moment, the silence continued as Cary stood there, head swaying on his broken neck, his remaining eye struggling to focus, the wet moan surging from his lips as rhythmic as breathing. As he turned, he saw Lacey. He said her name, a terrible parody of her name, half-spoken, half-groaned.

Cary started toward his wife. He seemed not to walk, but to drag himself, teetering and jolting, pulling himself forward. His one hand reached out toward her. The other jerked, as if he was trying to lift it, but couldn’t. It flopped and writhed, the fabric of the sleeve rasping against his side.

“—ac—ee—” he said.

Lacey whimpered. She stepped back. Cary stopped. His head swayed and bobbed, lips contorting into a twisted frown.

“—ac—ee?”

He reached for her. She fainted then, dropping to the ground before anyone could catch her. With her fall, the whole room snapped to life. People ran for the door, pounding and shrieking.

“—ad—” Cary groaned, wobbling as he turned.

His father stopped short. As he stared at his son, his lips moved, but no sound came out. Then his hand went to his chest. Someone pulled him back, shouting for an ambulance. Across the room, a woman began to laugh, a high-pitched laugh that quickly turned to hiccuping sobs. Cary lurched around and stared at the sobbing woman.

“—wha—wha—wha—”

“Peter!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Peter, where the fuck are you!”

Everyone who wasn’t shocked into immobility turned to see a woman in a green dress emerge from the curtains behind Cary’s casket.

“Peter, you fuck! I’m going to kill you!”

The woman strode into the middle of the room, then stopped and surveyed the crowd.

“Who the hell are you people? Where’s Peter? I swear to God, I’m going to kill the fucker this time!”

The woman was young, maybe only a few years older than me. A thick layer of makeup barely concealed a blackened eye. She was thin, rail-thin, the kind of thinness that speaks of drugs and neglect. As she cast a scowl across the room, she swept a fringe of dark-rooted blond bangs from her face … and away from a bullet-sized crater in her temple.

“She’s—she’s—” someone sputtered.

The woman wheeled on the speaker and lunged at him. The man shrieked and stumbled back as she landed on him, nails ripping at his face.

An elderly woman backpedaled into Cary. Seeing what she’d hit, she screamed and turned sharply, tripping over her feet. Falling, she reached out instinctively, grabbing his useless arm. Cary stumbled. As he collapsed, his arm yanked free, the woman still holding his hand, ripping the stitches the morticians had used to reattach the severed limb.

I turned away then, as Cary saw his arm fly from his body, as his garbled screams joined the cacophony. Only half aware of what I was doing, I ran for the curtained wall from which the dead woman had emerged.

I raced through the curtain-hidden door and found myself in a tiny darkened room. An empty casket sat on something that looked like a hospital gurney. Behind the coffin I could make out the shape of a doorway. I thrust the gurney aside, grabbed the door handle, turned it, and pushed, nearly falling through when it actually opened. I stumbled through.

I
raced down the empty hall. From behind me came the screams of those trapped with the corpses. Other screams hurtled down the hall, seemingly from both directions, different in pitch, but no less panicked. I looked both ways, but saw only doors and adjoining halls.

A dim glow emanated far off to my right. I ran toward it. Behind me, I heard a distant thumping, like someone climbing stairs. I kept running.

As I passed an adjoining hallway, I glanced down it and saw a mob of people, all pressed against a closed door, banging and shouting. This struck me as odd, made me wonder why my own hallway was empty, but I didn’t slow. As I rounded the corner, my salvation came into view: an exit door, sunlight peeping around the edges of the dark curtain.

I dashed for the door and got about ten feet when a flash of crimson reared up in my path. For a moment, the indistinct cloud of red and black writhed and pulsated. Then it exploded into a gaping mouth of fangs and shot for my throat.

I screamed, wheeled around, and collided with a body. As I screamed again, hands grabbed my shoulders. I pummeled and kicked, but my attacker only tightened his grip.

“It’s okay, Paige. Shhh. It’s nothing.”

Recognition penetrated my panic. I looked up to see Cortez. For one second, relief flooded through me. Then I remembered his betrayal. As I pushed away from him, I saw that his glasses were gone. In fact, the downtrodden-lawyer getup had been replaced by khakis, a leather jacket, and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt. An outfit far more befitting a young Cabal lawyer. How had I been so easily deceived?

“Oh, God, Savannah—” I said.

I dove for the door. The demon dog sprang to life, lunging at me. I spun on my heel and shoved Cortez hard, trying to get past him and run the other way. He grabbed me around the waist and yanked me off my feet.

“Savannah is this way, Paige. You have to go through it.”

He started pushing me into the jaws of the beast. I clawed at him, scratched, kicked, flailed. My nails connected with something and he gasped, loosening his grip just enough for me to squirm free. I lunged forward, but he grabbed me again, wrapping his arms around my chest.

“Goddamn it, Paige! Listen to me! Savannah is that way! There’s nothing there! It’s a hallucination!”

“I’m not halluc—”

He wrenched me around to face the demon beast. It was gone.

“Damn it, watch!” he grunted as I elbowed him in the stomach.

Holding me in one arm, he waved his hand into the air before us. The cloud of red smoke returned, contorting into a massive pair of snarling jaws. I fought with renewed strength, but Cortez managed to keep hold of me and force me to watch.

The smoke writhed and pulsed, changing into something that resembled a dragon, with fangs, a forked tongue, and blazing eyes. Then, the dragon vanished, becoming the demon dog again, slavering and straining as if on a short lead.

“A vision,” he said. “A conjuring. Dime store magic. It acts like a trip wire. Gabriel Sandford set them up by all the exits. Now, Savannah is safe and waiting for us—”

I wrenched free and dashed in the opposite direction. Ahead of me, a shape emerged from a doorway. I didn’t slow, just put out my hands, ready to push the person aside. Then he turned toward me. It was a man, naked, skin glowing pale in the dim light. The top of his head was missing. His chest was cut open in a Y from shoulder to chest and down to his pelvis. I could see ribs, sawed open. As he stepped forward, something fell from his chest, hit the floor with a splat. He looked at me, lips parting. I screamed.

Cortez’s hands closed around my waist. He yanked me into the air and half-carried, half-dragged me down the hall. When we hit the spot where we’d struggled earlier, the dragon reappeared. I closed my eyes and fought harder.

Seconds later, I felt a rush of air and opened my eyes to see Cortez pushing through the exit door. Behind us, the demonic dog slavered and snarled at nothing. Cortez heaved me off my feet and carried me out the door. Only when we were in the parking lot did he let me down.

“If you’ll look over there,” he said, panting, “you’ll see Savannah in your car.”

When my feet touched earth, I shoved him away and looked out over the hospital parking lot. I saw my car—and I saw no one in it.

“Goddamn it!” he said, looking about as he wiped blood from the furrows I’d left in his cheek. “Where the hell is she?”

“I swear, if you’ve hurt her—”

“There,” he said, striding away. “Savannah! I told you to stay in the car.”

“And you thought I’d listen?” Savannah replied from behind me. “You cast a lousy lock spell, sorcerer. Hey, Paige, come over here. You’ve got to see this.”

Even as I was turning, she ran off, leaving me with only a glimpse of her T-shirt. I raced after her, Cortez jogging behind. We rounded the corner to see her at another door. Before I could stop her, she vanished inside. I dashed forward, catching the door before it closed. Savannah stood inside, her back to us.

“Watch,” she said.

She waved her hand in front of her. For a second, nothing happened. Then particles of gray floated in from all directions until they formed a loose ball above Savannah’s head. I braced myself for the snarling beast. Instead the gray dust assembled itself into a woman’s face, then pieces of it fell away, revealing a grinning skull. The mouth opened in silent laughter and the skull spun three times, then vanished.

“Cool, huh?” Savannah said. “It’s sorcerer stuff. Can you do this, Lucas?”

“Dime store magic,” he said, wheezing to catch his breath.

She grinned at him. “You can’t, can you? Bet I could.” She waved her hand again, triggering the spell. “That is so cool. You get near the door and it goes off. They’re at all the doors.” She looked at me for the first time. “You don’t look so good, Paige. Are you okay?”

“Leah … Sandford,” I managed, still winded from panic. “We have to go. Before they—”

“They’re long gone,” Savannah said. “When I got outside, I saw Leah, and I was just about to run when Lucas grabbed me. I slugged him one, and—” She stopped and pointed to the scratches on his face. “Hey, did I do that?”

“No, I believe that would be Paige. The bruise from your blow hasn’t had time to rise yet. Now, as Savannah is trying to say, Leah and Sandford have left—”

“Oh, right,” she continued. “So, Lucas grabs me and I fight, then Leah does her stuff and sends us flying. Before she can get to me, though, this other guy—Sandford, I guess—cuts her off, and he says something to her and they leave.”

“They just walk away?” I said, turning to Cortez. “How … convenient.”

“No, wait,” Savannah said. “That’s the good part. See, they can’t touch Lucas because he’s—”

“Not now, Savannah,” Cortez said.

“But you have to tell her. Or she won’t understand.”

“Yes,” I said. “You have to tell me. Or I’m walking away and the next time I see you—”

“You didn’t call Robert, I presume?”

“He’s out of town. And I want to hear it from you. Right now.”

Cortez shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll require the extended explanation, for which there isn’t time at the moment. However, I will explain as soon as we are safely away from this place.”

“Hey, Paige,” Savannah said. “Did you see Lucas’s bike?”

She raced around the corner before I could stop her. When I caught up, I found her crouching beside, not a bicycle, but a motorcycle.

“It’s a Scout,” she said. “An Indian Scout. It’s, like, an antique. What year did you say again?”

“It’s from 1926, but we need to leave, Savannah.”

“It’s a collector’s item,” Savannah said. “Really rare.”

“Expensive, huh?” I said, shooting a look at Cortez. “Like the designer shirt. Pretty sharp for a struggling lawyer.”

“I restored the bike. As for the clothing, a suit is hardly appropriate for motorcycle riding. My wardrobe contains a limited supply of casual wear, the majority of it gifts from my family whose budget and taste exceed my own. Now, we really should—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

Cortez made a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl of frustration. “Paige, this is not the time—”

“I’m not being difficult. I don’t think it’s a good idea to run. People in there saw me. They’ll tell the police, who’ll come after me and wonder why I took off.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Quite right. I’d suggest we find an officer to take your statement.”

“First, I’m getting those people out, before someone has a heart attack.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Who cares about them? They wouldn’t help you. Tell her, Lucas.”

“She’s right. Paige, I mean. We should get them out.”