Vesik 3 Winter's Demon (20 page)

“How do we stop it?” I asked as the fairies all glided down to the table.

Edgar watched them for a moment as the innkeeper set out small plates piled high with eggs, bacon, and single-square pieces of waffle.

“Stop it?” he said as he slid a half-eaten piece of bacon across his plate like a chess piece.

I nodded. “Frank says the video is out. It’s gone viral.”

The fairies stopped eating and stared at me.

“It’s viral,” Edgar said. “It’s everywhere.” He fell silent and snapped the crisp bacon in two. “Ezekiel killed the only Watchers with enough influence over technology to do anything about it. All in the last week.” He reduced the bacon to crumbles as I watched.

Waiting for him to say something else got under my skin, and I snapped. “How the hell do we stop it?”

“How can anyone stop that now?” he snapped back. “Do you think we’re magic?”

He paused and blinked, his eyes darting to the side and back. I opened my mouth.

“Shut up, Vesik,” he said.

The fairies burst into a subdued laughter.

“Technology is beyond us in some things.” Edgar rubbed his palm across his forehead and grimaced. “At least, it’s beyond most of us.”

“What kind of damage do you foresee?” Vik asked as he pulled a chair up across the room beside Mike.

“I don’t think it’s too bad, honestly,” Edgar said. “For our community at large, I mean. What the hell was that witch throwing around?”

“You saw it?” Foster asked.

Edgar nodded.

Mike coughed and his voice was sheepish. “I believe those were runic arts.”

The Watcher’s head rose slowly and he gawked at Mike. “The Blade of the Stone? That art is lost!”

Mike glanced at the empty space beside him. I could barely make out the form of the little necromancer. I coughed into my fist as I choked back a laugh.

“Lost to most,” Mike said. “Reborn in a witch who walks in the light.”

“‘Reborn in a witch that walks in the—’ Edgar shouted. “Are you fucking crazy?!” Edgar shouted.

Foster didn’t bother to hide the huge grin on his face as he chewed on a piece of waffle the size of his hand. Aideen sighed and went back to her own food.

Edgar’s shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t matter right now. Later, it can wait.” Edgar’s voice resumed the absolute authority I was used to. “James and I are staying here. The Old Man is going after Ezekiel, which means you’ll probably see him again in Saint Louis. Carter said to call Hugh, tell him to help Frank and Ashley.

I snorted a laugh. “Tell him, right, maybe ask nicely.” Edgar astutely ignored me.

“You will take Sam, Vik, Mike, and Zola to get your mother back.”

“I’m staying here,” Cassie said.

Cara nodded. “The Guardian is shifting beneath us. We need to stay. Foster will go with you. Aideen will return to Frank and Ashley.”

Foster rubbed the hilt of the sword over his left shoulder.

“I am sorry I won’t be with you all. Do not underestimate Ezekiel. He is more powerful than you know.”

“We watched him pull up every dead thing in a square mile and try to flatten Zola with it,” I said. “How much more powerful could he be?”

Edgar met my gaze, daggers in his eyes. “Ezekiel has fought against three Old Gods I am aware of, and he still walks this earth.”

If there’d been a clock in the room, I would have heard every tick in the silence that followed.

The outer door slammed, breaking the brief stillness as Zola walked into the kitchen. “Cut that crap, Edgar. He is still a man. He can still die.”

The Watcher scraped a bite of shattered bacon together and chewed slowly.

“Dimitry is coming with us,” she said. “Ah can’t talk him out of it.” She turned and pointed at Mike. “He thinks he can help with those damn bombs you gave him.” She blew out a breath and looked at me. “Talking to your father reminds me where you got your blockheaded stubborn streak. Finish your food. We’re leaving in an hour.”

We all sat down and ate. The innkeeper was an amazing cook, serving up the flat breakfast soufflé once again after we finished the bacon and homemade waffles. She topped us off with a fresh batch of bread pudding straight from the baking dish. There were no formal serving dishes that morning. We ate off paper plates, everyone crammed around the two small seating areas in the kitchen. Sharing our food and fears in the morning brought my spirits up. We had new allies in Dell and the Old Man. Even Edgar was on our side. We were heading out soon to get Mom back, and a whole lot of Philip’s men would be dead. I smiled and jabbed my fork into another chunk of bread pudding.

***

“Oh my god,” Sam whispered. She leaned over the dashboard, nearly pressing her face to the window as we rolled over the bridge into downtown. “No.”

Smoke rose from the ruins of Main Street. The old bricks of some buildings were burned out and blasted across the streets, leaving nothing but rubble. Bodies were mounted to the walls that were still standing. Snow fell delicately where shards of metal and rust and bone pinned the dead to the old shop fronts. Some bodies were crucified. Others hung upside down, eviscerated. One teenage boy was almost nude, with his own shattered arm jammed down his throat. I almost gagged at the terror etched across his face in death. More bodies were strewn across the street like so much refuse.

“Who?” Vik said from the backseat. “Why?”

“There,” I said as I pointed and swerved around an avalanche of shattered bricks. “Look at those bodies.”

“Long dead, rotted,” Vik said. “Necromancers did this.”

“Bloody hell, we need to stop, help them,” Sam said.

“You can’t,” Mike said, his tone a dark pulse from the back. “They’re all dead.”

“The whole town?” I asked.

“I doubt it, but everyone here is dead. I can’t sense a living soul anywhere near us.”

My old ’32 Ford rattled over some bricks as we passed out of the devastated street. The road was clear at first, but then the bodies started up again. Torn and dismembered, they were discarded on the side of the road. Bloody skid marks lined the paths where they’d slid through the snow-covered ground. A trail of broken bodies led back to the gas station.

Edgar was on his phone in an instant. “Get the Cleaners to Boonville.” He paused, listening to the other end of the line. “All tied up with the video? I don’t give a fuck what they’re doing! Boonville’s half destroyed and the streets are littered with bodies. You pull them and get them out here now!” He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket.

“Stop the car!” Mike said.

I slammed on the brakes, pushing myself deeper into the seat as we slid to a sideways stop. I glanced at Mike in the rearview mirror. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes.

“Do you smell it?” he said.

I shook my head. “I just smell the burned-out station.”

“I smell it,” Sam said. “What is that? It’s like when Prosperine … shit.”

Mike nodded. “Brimstone. This wasn’t just necromancers. A demon was here. And not long ago. The stench is still strong. It has to be the demon Ezekiel raised.”

“We should not be seen here,” Vik said. “Move.”

***

My eyes were focused on the road, the gently winding highway, ash-colored below the gray skies. We wove through what little traffic was braving the snow. Our old, heavy cars had no problem in the weather, but my mind wouldn’t leave Boonville. So many buildings on Main Street had been reduced to smoking piles of rubble. Bodies from the bridge to the exploded gas station. The carnage hadn’t been that bad the night before. My knuckles whitened as I strangled the steering wheel.

“Who would have done that?” I asked.

“Had to be Ezekiel,” Foster said from the dashboard.

“I know, but how could
anyone
do that?”

“They aren’t like you and me,” Vik said from the back.

I almost smiled at the inference Vik and I were alike.

“We kill only out of necessity,” Vik said. “A need for survival or a lack of options. Regardless, we feel something every time we do it. Maybe it is regret, maybe it is glee, and maybe it is horror, but we all feel something. Ezekiel does not.”

“Or cannot,” Mike said.

Vik nodded. “Indeed. Worse though, a newly reborn demon will kill for sheer pleasure. One day it may thrive on twisting and damning souls, but killing is all that matters to it now.”

Mike sighed and I caught a small nod in the mirror.

I slid the headset to the phone over my ear.

“Who are you calling?” Foster asked from his perch on the mirror.

“Hugh, I have to call Hugh,” I said. “We’re almost in Wentzville. I should have called him earlier. Frank and Ashley may need the backup.” Sam’s posture tightened when I mentioned them. “Hugh will help, sis. I know it.”

The wolf picked up in two rings. “Speak.”

“Hugh, it’s Damian.”

“Yes, brother. The phone told me that much.”

“I’ll get right to it. Ezekiel is headed your way. Probably to Chesterfield Mall where they’re holding my mom.”

“He is a powerful man, Cub.” He hesitated for a moment. “What are you asking of us?”

“Not to face him, I won’t ask you that,” I said as I passed a slow-moving semi on a steep incline. “Frank and Ashley are holed up at the shop. They may need your help.” I sighed. “Look, Ezekiel raised a demon last night. We don’t know how strong it is, but it’s a bloody demon. It destroyed Main Street in Boonville.”

“Damian, if they are headed to Chesterfield, they will have to pass Howell Island. I cannot leave it unguarded.”

Howell Island, the underground werewolf stronghold for the River Pack. My hand slid over the series of ridges on my arm where Hugh had marked me, bonding me to the pack. I still didn’t know what all that entailed, but it was one hell of an after party.

“They won’t know it’s there,” Foster said. “They may sense a concentration of power, or a distortion in the lines, but the river will mask most of it.”

“I will send Alan and Regina,” Hugh said.

Alan I knew. He was a mountain of a man, but a gentle soul. He’s a strong fighter, and someone I am glad is on my list of friends. “Regina?”

“She is Misun’s little sister,” Hugh said.

“Misun?” I asked.

Hugh chuckled. “I believe you told him he looked like a tabby cat at your initiation.”

“Oh, right. Misun,” I mumbled. Long story.

“Regina is lithe and deadly as a fox, Damian. She will protect your friends.” He paused briefly. “Our friends.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Hugh. Sorry to bring this down on you.”

“No, this is no fault of yours. It takes many voices to weave this tale. I must go.”

“Thanks again,” I said.

He grunted an affirmation and hung up.

“Two werewolves, two cu siths, Aideen, Frank, and Ashley,” Foster said. “I think they’ll be fine.”

“I would not want to stick my nose in that hornet’s nest,” Vik said.

“Not even for a ferret?” Sam asked.

Vik paused, and then said, “Perhaps.”

Zola’s blue 1957 Chevy Bel Air pulled out and started to pass us as the hour wound down and we closed in on Chesterfield. I gave Dad a one-handed wave as they went by.

“Almost time,” Mike said as we started across the bridge into the Chesterfield Valley.

The snow picked up, larger flakes turning to mush against the windshield and limiting our visibility. The tree line and riverbanks wore a stark blanket of white.

“I’d rather be stopping for pancakes,” Foster said under his breath.

“There’s Howell Island,” Sam said as she pointed out the window to her right. “Hard to believe the entire compound is under there.”

We exited at Boone’s Crossing, heading west until we caught Baxter Road and wound through a small row of old homes. They lined the foot of a hill to the south, opposite a small, well-kept mobile home park.

“Edgar,” I said. “How should we go in?”

“Most of the stores are already closed. Park by Dillard’s on the west side and we’ll start a sweep.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. That was right by the northern parking lot where we’d found Vicky. Where we’d found the van and killed the murdering bastard that hurt her.

“Vicky,” Foster said.

I ground my teeth and nodded.

“Another time,” Edgar said. “We need to focus. Your mother needs us.”

Sam put her hand on my shoulder as we pulled into the lot behind Zola. I slammed the car into park and got out.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“D
oor’s locked,” Dad said as he turned away from the glass.

“Stores shouldn’t be closed,” Edgar said. “They know we’re coming. On your guard.”

I glanced up into the falling snow as the Carol of the Bells boomed from the speakers above. For a moment I was thrown into the past, playing a duet with Sam on Christmas Eve at our grandparents’ house. A night of family, one of those rare times everything goes right. Pine and gingerbread filled our lungs with every breath as we pounded through our performance. Mom and Grandma clapped and smiled while Dad sipped his eggnog and flashed us a fake smile. This performance, this song, in a time all but lost. The Carol of the Bells rang out and my skin crawled with anger. I snarled as the chorus boomed.

Rage makes everything easy, but cleanup’s a bitch. Ley line energy leapt into my open palm, growing and pulsing and burning as the concentration grew to be too much. Foster marched beside me, full-sized and off to my left, with Sam to my right as the wind snapped at her trench coat with winter’s chill. Zola’s training echoed in my head, “A fist to strike the darkness.”

Five feet from the door I closed my hand around the ball of power and simply punched at the air. A fiery blue comet smashed through the doors, melting glass and steel and sending shrapnel skidding twenty feet across the tiled floors.

Glass fell from the mangled door frames, a tinkling accompaniment to the sudden silence that wrapped around us as we crossed the threshold into the mall. The music from the outdoor speakers was only a whisper in the quiet stillness of what should have been a bustling shopping mall.

“That was probably unnecessary,” Mike said.