The Warlock's Curse (51 page)

Will did not see Phleger rise; he did not see him until the preacher was standing over him, looking down at him, the snuffbox in his hand. In Will’s pain-swimming vision, Phleger seemed to be—
glowing
. Wisps of brilliantly colored light entwined his entire Body shimmering threads of red and purple and gold and yellow. The black mark that slashed from his eye to his chin seemed to throb. Will could not stop staring at him.

Ben made an urgent gesture. Slowly, reluctantly, Phleger reached into his pocket and withdrew the silver box. Ben had to take it from his hand. Ben placed the box gently on Will’s bare chest—over his panic-thrashing heart—then laid both his warm hands over it.

Focus on my voice.
Ben’s thoughts rang abruptly through his head, and Will closed his eyes in concentration. Ben’s response was abrupt:
No, keep your eyes open. Open.
He seized Will’s chin, gave his head a little shake. It felt like broken glass was rattling inside his skull. Will whimpered.

I told you the warlocks cannot come unless Phleger invites them in. So make him. Tell him to invite them in. Tell him to invite his enemies into this temple.

Will’s mind swam with confusion. How could he! Phleger would never—

Ben pressed down on the box. It was the worst agony Will had ever known, as if his very heart was being burned in the fires of hell. Will screamed.

Say it! Tell him to invite them in! Command him!

“Invite them in,” Will gasped, but it was a mere whisper against a maelstrom of suffering.

Louder!
Ben pressed down on the box again, and Will thought he would die.
Use Cowdray’s voice! The command in Latin is Invado—scream it!

“Invado!” Will shrieked, and his voice was Cowdray’s, ringing and cruel. It made the walls shudder around them. “Invite them in! Invite in your enemies!”

Phleger leaped to his feet, alarmed. Will’s magically-enhanced vision allowed him to see the panicked colors glowing around the preacher. Will could see how deeply Phleger’s power suffused the very structure around them, how the gleaming threads of magic that surrounded him ran like blood-veins through the walls. The light that pulsed from Phleger pulsed all around them.

“What is he saying?” Phleger bellowed.

“It’s not the boy—it’s Cowdray!” Ben bellowed in response. “He’s attempting to invade your mind, to take control of you!” Ben pressed the box down again, making Will babble and thrash uncontrollably. “You must not let him! Defend your temple!”

With a cry, Phleger whirled and fell to his knees once again, lifting his hands to the cross and pleading loudly for salvation, for shelter, for deliverance. Ben slackened his pressure on the box, and Will’s agony relaxed slightly. He felt himself sobbing.

I’m sorry, Will. Stay with me just a little longer.
Will was faintly aware of his brother stroking his hair.
All of Phleger’s energy will be directed outward now, flowing out of the temple. We can ride it out. You just have to break the walls, Will. Break the walls. Believe that we are outside them. Me, you, Jenny, and your child. All of us. Outside and free.

F
REE?
W
HY SHOULD YOU BE FREE?
I
AM NOT, AND NEVER WILL BE.

Ben clenched his teeth at the new presence.
Cowdray.

A
NOTHER KENDALL!
Cowdray seemed to recognize the very flavor of Ben’s thoughts. A
ND A EUNUCH AT THAT.
S
EEKING TO STEAL A BIT OF YOUR BROTHER’S POWER FOR YOUR OWN?

Cowdray will try to bully you, Will—don’t let him! Keep your eyes open. Stay here. Stay with the pain—

O
H, BUT THERE ARE SO MANY KINDS OF PAIN,
Cowdray said. A
ND YOU DON’T KNOW HALF OF MANY OF THEM AS I DO.

Will was suddenly seized with the uncontrollable urge to close his eyes. They slammed shut, clenched tightly as fists. But instead of darkness, Will found that he was seeing through different eyes.

Different eyes—but the memories were his.

His, and Aebedel Cowdray’s.

Walls.

Walls of buildings. Buildings made of stone. And lights—so bright. And the moon—and not the moon.

It is cold here.

Having just taken a new body, Aebedel Cowdray tries to remember the last life he lived. The last body he owned.

Where am I?

Cowdray pauses in the street, paved with some hard, smooth substance. Everything around him is smooth, strong, tall. There is so much light.

He pauses and runs his hands along his arms, his torso. He is a man this time. That is good, very good. It is good to be a man again. A young man. Strong. He looks at his hands, places them on his firm abdomen, feels himself breathe. He smells the air, cold and fresh, tinged with the smell of steel. He is in some very large city, and he is outside, and it is snowing very hard.

“Will!” Ben’s voice, distant, another time and place. A place where a huge red cross burned. Will could feel Ben slapping him hard across the face, but compared with the rest of the pain, the sensation was barely noticeable. “Will, open your eyes! For God’s sake, don’t let Cowdray pull you into memory! Use the pain, Will. Stay here! Open your eyes!”

Will tried. He tried desperately. He struggled against Cowdray, struggled to crack his eyes open. He summoned all the pain in his body and all the hatred. He focused on his brother’s words.

“Use the pain!” Ben was roaring. “Use the pain! Think of
Jenny
—”

A
H, YES!
Cowdray’s exclamation was bright with cruel inspiration. L
ET’S THINK OF JENNY!
T
ENDER, SUPPLE, MOIST LITTLE JENNY—

“No!” Will screamed, and he realized that he was screaming it aloud, the extended shriek scorching his throat. He felt Ben’s fist slam down on his chest, cold silver driving through his heart like a stake. This time, though, he arched his back to meet the pain, desperately seeking to intensify it.

The night is bitterly cold, and the snow is falling heavily.

And the moon is full, beautifully full.

Cowdray moves unsteadily along the pavement, remembering how to walk, savoring the cold. As he walks, he sheds the memories of his last body, discarding them like rags of old clothing. He had a woman’s body before. It was weak. He killed that woman’s husband with a large knife. That woman’s husband had been a scientist. A Russian. Cowdray had stabbed him with the woman’s hand, as she had screamed for him to stop. He decides that he will keep that memory. He will keep it with the others he carries with him from life to life—bloody, brutal, beautiful memories.

That woman had a child, Cowdray remembers. A tiny girl with disturbing violet eyes. Cowdray wonders idly what became of her. Squealing little get of a Kendall. He wishes he could remember what he did to her. That might be a fine memory, well worthy of keeping. But he doesn’t remember killing her. Perhaps he let her live so that she could get other squealing little Kendalls. Squealing little Kendalls like the boy whose body he now possesses.

Thinking of the boy, Cowdray feels for his mind. It is pinned like an insect, wiggling. Panicked, terrified, completely devoid of understanding. Cowdray regards this squirming little creature.

“What are you called?” he inquires aloud, breath congealing white then falling with the hard-driving snow. The boy does not want to answer, but Cowdray’s power is sufficient to compel an immediate response:

W
ILL EDWARDS.

Cowdray grunts. It is good to know the body’s name. The body’s name will be useful. Especially since there is someone following him, someone just as young and clumsy as the new body he possesses. He turns, startling her.

She is exquisite.

The body he possesses thinks so too, for just seeing her releases a rush of desire in his blood. The boy feels shame at this, but Cowdray is older. Much older. He knows what to do with such feelings.

“William!” the exquisite creature says, breath white. She is breathing hard, her pretty face flushed pink with cold and the exertion of following him. She is wearing a coat of lustrous animal fur, downy with white flakes. “What’s wrong with you?”

It is better, for the moment, to pretend.

“I feel strange,” he says, putting weakness in his voice. He rests a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. Her shoulder is warm and firm and soft, and he leans heavily against her, hungry to let his hand wander. But not here.

She draws closer to him, helps him stand. So she trusts him, then. There is concern in her eyes. Concern, and something else.

Love.

Oh, Cowdray thinks bitterly. This will be sweet. Very, very sweet.

“What’s your name, my pet?” he asks, nuzzling her as he whispers it in her ear, smelling the fragrance of her hair.

“Jenny,” she says, drawing back to look at him with surprise. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sick, Jenny,” Cowdray whimpers pathetically. “I’m so cold. We have to get out of the cold.”

He searches the boy’s memories for a place he can take her. This time the boy senses his intentions and struggles against him. But it only takes a moment for the perfect place to reveal itself.

N
O
,
Will screams.

“I have to hide,” Cowdray says to her. “You shouldn’t stay with me. I am in danger. Terrible danger.”

“I’ll stay with you,” she says, wrapping her arm around him to hold him up. Oh, how loyal she is! How sweet! “I will help you. We’ll go back to the apartment—”

“No,” Cowdray says curtly. “We cannot go there. It is too dangerous. We must go someplace else. You have to trust me. You have to trust me ... Jenny.”

Smiling, he leans against Jenny, and she helps him stagger to the Hotel Acheron.

“Will!” Ben is yelling. “Will, fight him. Fight him!”

In the real world, Will is screaming.

Will is screaming, and he cannot stop.

The place is so perfect that Cowdray wonders if the boy is less reluctant than his constant screaming would suggest. He does desire the girl, after all. Cowdray is just helping nature along. He closes the door behind them. He puts the key in a pocket inside his vest.

Jenny is standing with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Snow is melting into the soft folds of her coat. Her eyes are worried.

“Why have we come back here, William? This is a terrible place—”

He seizes her. The worry in her eyes becomes something different as he kisses her hard, roughly.

“Stop it!” She tries to pull away, but Cowdray holds her fast. His body is strong, strong and young. Her struggle fires it.

“Your hair smells like snow,” he says, “Like cold air and ice on the water. I want to know what your skin smells like.”

With a cry, Jenny pulls away, whirling to the other side of the room, pressing her back against the wall. Cowdray lets her go. This is just the first salvo, the first foray. He is assured of victory. There is no need to achieve it too soon.

“I want to leave,” she says. She is breathing hard. She is trembling.

L
ET HER GO,
the boy moans.
P
LEASE.

Cowdray removes his coat. He does this very slowly. Once his coat is off, he removes the key from his vest pocket. He shows it to her.

“The door is there,” he says. But as Jenny is moving toward him to take the key, the boy remembers something else. The boy is so very obliging. Cowdray pulls the something else out of his pocket, something that shines. A straight razor with a smooth tortoiseshell handle. The girl is forgotten for a moment as Cowdray unfolds the shining silver blade. It is a beautiful piece of steel. When he finally does look up at Jenny, he sees that she has frozen like a startled fawn.

“You bought this for him,” he says wonderingly. Glee bubbles up within him. He is young, he is armed, and there is a beautiful girl at his mercy.

“I bought it for you,” Jenny says, voice breaking. “Please. I want to go now.”

Cowdray holds up both hands. In one hand is the key to the door, in the other hand, the open razor.

“You can go,” he says. “If you can get the key before I can open your throat. But I don’t think you can.”