Tantrics Of Old (34 page)

Adri threw the orbs. He aimed them away from where Gray was, as far as he could possibly manage. They shattered as they hit the floor, releasing an immediate, pungent odour. Gray hit the ground and watched the witches as they reacted. It was fast. Their heads whipped around, one after the other, towards where the orbs had landed. They did not, however, move.

Everything was silent. ‘Why aren’t they moving?’ Adri whispered.

‘Quiet,’ Fayne said.

Gray was beginning to sweat. There was absolutely no sound, and he was right near the witches, flat on the hard, cold ground, half-hidden in the shadows. Not that the shadows would help.

‘Who’s there?’ a Dyne asked, in a high voice that trembled.

‘Who disturbs the brewing of poor blind women?’ asked another.

No one spoke. ‘Something is wrong,’ a witch whispered.

‘The smell keeps changing too rapidly,’ another complained.

‘Sisters?’ a witch cried. ‘Maybe it is someone with honour. Someone who can free our souls from the curse.’

‘You’re right. Are you an adventurer, a brave adventurer?’ another witch started. ‘You can help us. You can help us helpless old hags.’

Silence again. Gray’s heart raced.

‘No one falls for that one, Uskula,’ a witch said with a sudden savage snicker.

‘Not true. That time that young boy offered to help, remember? He was hiding. And then he emerged and asked us how to break the curse,’ Uskula said.

‘He tasted funny,’ a witch murmured.

‘Yes, but he still counts, doesn’t he?’ Uskula screeched. ‘And you, Veela, your fat mouth just gave it away in case someone
is
hidding here!’

‘Bah,’ Veela dismissed. ‘Let’s just go and see what the smell is.’

All the witches moved together and started walking towards the smashed orbs. The distance wasn’t too great, and Gray, even from his position, knew he would have to move fast, which he did, scuttling towards the trunk as fast as he could. He could see the damn thing clearly now, just a short distance away. He went from cauldron to cauldron, using them as cover, keeping a wary eye on the witches. Then the witches went beyond his sight, disappearing along the big cauldron in the centre, and Gray hurried to the trunk as fast as he could.

Fayne watched the witches moving past the big cauldron; they had almost reached the shattered glass. ‘How long does the smell last?’ he asked.

‘Long enough. Gray has more than enough time to grab the Aujour and sneak back to the rope,’ Adri replied, his eyes roving from the witches to Gray. Gray, however, was not moving. He was standing in front of the trunk. Standing perfectly still.

‘What is he doing?’ Adri hissed.

‘It’s the cookies,’ Fayne replied.

‘What? What cookies?’

Fayne looked at Adri. ‘You haven’t been in the Heart before, have you?’

They looked at Gray, looking down at the trunk motionlessly.

‘I didn’t spend my childhood playing hide-and-seek among these cauldrons, no,’ Adri said.

Fayne ignored the crack. ‘Cookies are the Coven’s mantraps. They’ve been using them for a long time now, the elders.’

A loud murmur went up among the witches just then, drawing their attention.

‘Trouble,’ Adri said quietly.

‘Broken glass, my sisters,’ a witch exclaimed. ‘Broken glass and a changing smell.’

‘Toys of a Tantric,’ Uskula grunted.

‘So is there a Tantric here?’

‘A filthy dead-talker?’

‘The glass could not have arrived by itself.’

‘Perhaps a sister brought it here, perhaps it’s a little joke?’

‘A joke by Tantrics, then! No one of the Coven would dare do this to the elders!’

‘But Ailiya was rather mad the last time she did not get her share. Would she resort to such devilry?’

‘Ailiya is not like this, sister! No, I sense trickery here. Tantrics!’

‘This just might be something else, my sisters. This might be a simple ploy.’

‘A distraction, perhaps?’

All the thirty witches turned their heads together. ‘I would say a Tantric hides in these shadows,’ one rasped. ‘Separate the smells, sisters. We will find him.’

Gray was on his knees now. He was reaching towards the trunk.

‘Too late. They’re going to turn,’ Adri cursed, going for his revolvers.

Ooh. Fun
.

Fayne, saying nothing, stood up from his crouched stance.

It wasn’t Gray’s fault. Adri had never known about the cookies. A casual last-minute warning from Fayne had not been enough. They were right there, the cookies, in a small basket amidst the ingredients. Right in front of him. The cookies. Various colours, from a rare light shade of brown to the darkest dark chocolate. Looking right at him. Begging to be eaten. They smelt warm and heavenly, and Gray could see each individual crumb. He stared at them for a long time, taking in the sight, the beauty, the overpowering, thick smell. He picked one up and ate it.

The witches began to scream, all of them. Together. They screamed and screeched as if in torture. They threw their heads back and writhed in agony. Transformation. Their old papery skin ripped apart, as did their clothes. Old shaky limbs gave way to strong, bony ones underneath. Fangs emerged from under broken and rotting teeth; claws slid into place where there had once been dirty fingernails. It was as if the human body had been but a cocoon, hiding the monster underneath. The real witch was out now—lean, immediately falling to all fours like the predator it was. No burning eyes; a blank patch of tight, rotting skin where the eyes should’ve been. They were larger than normal witches, and looked stronger. They would have sniffed across the cavern looking for intruders if Gray had not chosen that very moment to bite the cookie. It was like an alarm siren that the thirty Dynes could perceive at the same time. They ran, they scampered, they charged in a beeline for Gray.

The spell broke when Gray took the bite; he realised he had done exactly what he shouldn’t have.

He looked up and everything seemed to freeze in time for him. A witch was running straight at him, saliva dripping from her fangs—his death in person. He stared at the witch, not able to believe what a magnificent and terrifying hunter she was, not being able to believe that this creature was the end of everything for him. Something caught his eye above. A figure, hanging in mid-air, directly above the witch. An assassin, poised with both arms raised, red blades gleaming in gloved hands, tied hair flying around his suspended body like a lean whip, glassy eyepieces reflecting Gray’s amazed face.

Then reality kicked in. Fayne landed on the witch when she was mere inches from Gray, and simultaneously sank two daggers into her throat. He used the witch as a cushion for his landing; literally bouncing off the bleeding creature he plunged straight into the pack of oncoming witches. His hands held blades again, which he swept in exact arcs, catching one witch in the throat and another in the face. Each time, he left the blades in the wounds; when he faced a new enemy, his hands, almost magically, held fresh daggers. Parrying claws with the flat sides of his blades, Fayne used the momentum of the oncoming horde as a matador might to strike deadly and exact blows in lightning flashes of speed.

Gray was frozen stiff, until a mercury round whistled past his ear and into a witch. He recovered and found his legs. Staggering, he hastily unhooked the shotgun from his back and looked around. Adri was walking towards him, firing away from both guns. His face was grim. He knew the odds. None of them were getting out of here alive. It was a sacrifice; their plan had never been good enough. Living by the edge could only take one so far. The alarm had already been sounded throughout the Hive. The screeches of war, the screeches of death were loud, echoing into the other caverns, as was the gunfire. They were up against thirty elder witches, not counting the hundreds that were probably on their way by now. This wasn’t the way to die, to pull three others to the grave with him. It hadn’t been his intention, no, it hadn’t been what he had started out for. There was nothing to do now, nothing to do with his guilt but face it, face it like the witches, riddle it full of holes. His teeth were grit. Bloody hell. Everything done so far, useless, fruitless, bloody hell. Die, die, die. Die, cursed creatures. Die. He did not want to die far from home, but here there was no escape, no measures he could take, no twenty-four hour time limit, no pentacle to shield any aura. Here there was only death, and by lord, he would take some with him. At least the soil was of Kolkata, Old Kolkata, the Old City,
his
Old City.

Gray was confused. Cauldrons were overturning. Screeches and death knells. Shadows and the light. Chaos. Terror. And in the midst of it all was the assassin of Ahzad, who wasn’t letting a single witch pass him by alive. The witches that skirted him were being picked off by Adri. Gray raised his shotgun nervously, looking for a possible target. There were too many and Gray shifted targets like a madman, unable to decide who to pull the trigger on.

Fayne stopped in the middle of a fatal thrust for a fraction of a second. ‘Watch your fire,’ he said and continued.

‘Close range only, Gray!’ Adri yelled. ‘You might hit Fayne, those bullets will spread!’

A witch leapt for Gray that very instant, but he somehow managed to pick her off in mid-air. A couple of full-blown mercury shotgun rounds—the Dyne wasn’t getting up again. The witches were still too many, Adri realised as he saw four Dynes running for him. He backed away, firing with both hands. Gray reloaded as fast as he could. For a second he looked up, and for the first time saw Fayne covered in blood, still fighting. He did not know whose blood it was, and before he had time to think a claw swiped his back.

‘Yaargh!’ Gray screamed, dropping the shotgun. The witch clawed him again and then leapt onto his back, dropping him to the floor. She was heavy, Gray realised. He found himself unable to move. Knowing he had seconds, he struggled madly, but he could not overturn the witch. His shotgun was a few feet away, and he reached out in a futile attempt.

Fayne was killing witch after witch. The Dynes came at him from every side and he did not care. It was almost as if he had eyes on all sides of his head; even with the restrictive vision of the mask, he kept countering their attacks with smooth moves. Bodies were piling up incredibly fast.

Adri saw the witch on Gray’s back; instinctively, his last two rounds were fired between the oncoming witches, right on mark. The witch collapsed on top of Gray and Adri heard him cry out in pain. Good, that was one problem solved. Now he had to deal with the witches that were almost on him. His guns were empty and there was no time to reload. Adri turned around and started to run—he knew he could not outrun a Dyne, but still he ran—and then, right in front of him, he saw a sight that made him stop. Witches. Dynes. Hundreds of them. Pouring in, from every hole in the wall, from every passage, from every exit. Like a scourge, like a plague, like so many ants. A swarm. A wave. Scuttling on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor in front of him, headed at him. At the three of them.

He realised he had stopped. He turned and saw the three elder witches right behind him, panting, ready to pounce. They hadn’t because they wanted to give him that last moment of awe, that satisfaction of gazing upon the might of the witches, not something to be trifled with. Something for which he was about to pay with his life. He turned and saw Fayne standing similarly still, witches surrounding him in a circle.

He was observing the coming horde as well, dealing with the unsuccessful fulfilment of his charge.

And for the first time since the fight had begun, the Wraith spoke.

Let me through
.

Adri did.

His eyes burst into blue flames. His shirt burned in a blue blaze and exposed the tattoos within, which were afire. ‘Aargh!’ Adri screamed and swept his hand in a wide arc, releasing pure spirit flame. It stung the elder witches around him and they burned and backed away. Adri ran towards Fayne, who had moved to where Gray had fallen. He burned his way through the circle of Dynes, surrounding them, and stopped in front of them, hands raised, blue fire burning in both palms. Adri spun the fires around like a giant blue whip, keeping the witches at bay while the assassin watched silently and Gray looked on with unbelieving eyes.