Circle of Blood (7 page)

Desdemona stepped out of her car and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. Freaky leaped out on silent paws and the two walked together into the cemetery. As they passed down a row of tombs, she listened carefully but could hear no sounds. She was early, as she’d wanted to be.

Even as she drifted between the grisly monuments to death and decay, she couldn’t help wondering if the spirit had indeed been telling her the truth or instead luring her into some sort of trap.

She was on edge, despite her preparations. The cemetery was a desolate place at night, and there was something that just felt wrong about the entire thing. She stopped frequently to stretch out with her senses and see if she could hear or feel anything out of the ordinary.

Every time, though, it felt as though she couldn’t sense much of anything more than a few feet beyond herself. It almost felt as if a wet blanket had been draped over the entire place, which deadened and hampered the energy from flowing freely as it should. She wondered if it was some strange effect caused by the tombs or if there was magic at work that she just couldn’t sense.

Freaky seemed uneasy as well, looking over his shoulder every time she paused as though checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. His doing so added to her own sense of unease.

The tombs were all different heights, some much lower to the ground than she would have anticipated and others towering. It made it hard to see and also cast weird shapes, thanks to the moon gleaming above. She would almost rather have it be pitch-black than have to deal with the strange patterns of light and dark.

She found the Voodoo Queen’s tomb and she could see
X
’s marked on the side where people had indeed come hoping that the spirit would grant their wish. She wondered if that was why the witch she sought would be making a visit here tonight.

The entity that possessed Martin had told her the witch was coming to pay her respects to the Voodoo Queen. That seemed odd and Desdemona had assumed that she would be performing some kind of ritual here. Whatever it was, she’d have to be ready for her.

After having looked around for a few moments, Desdemona chose the tomb she was going to hide behind. It seemed rather futile, since the other witch was likely to feel her presence the moment she stepped into the cemetery. If she wasn’t coming alone, though, perhaps she would just assume it was one of her followers or intended victims.

You should leave. You don’t know enough,
the voice whispered inside, and she would have given anything to still it forever.

Freaky lay down beside her, fading into a shadow so that all that could be seen of him were his glowing eyes.

As she crouched in the darkness and waited, Desdemona thought of all the other things she should have done before coming here. She could have checked in with Claudia, seen if the girl had heard anything. She could reach out now and touch her mind, but she was afraid of doing anything that would distract her even a fraction.

The minutes ticked by and slowly she became aware that she was not alone. The dead inside the tombs were whispering to her, telling her things about their lives and deaths that she’d rather not know. If anything she would have liked to know if Marie truly was buried in the tomb that she had seen. Apparently there was some dispute about whether that was her final resting place.

The bones or whatever was left at this point probably would have spoken to her and told her had she just stopped to listen. Had the other witch been here before? If so, she probably knew the truth. And if that was the case, then the bones were probably Marie’s, because who else would the witch care about?

Desdemona bared her teeth. It was fitting that the two of them should meet at last in a graveyard, given that the witch had left the picture for her in the graveyard in Salem. In the empty grave that had Desdemona’s name on it.

She could feel Freaky tensing. Something must be near. A moment later she sensed a change in the energy around her, a disturbance that only another with power could cause. She held her breath, wondering what would happen when the witch felt her presence.

The disturbance grew stronger. Desdemona was reasonably certain the witch wasn’t alone. That meant more to fight, but hopefully she could hide her presence longer.

She strained her senses and heard the barest whisper of movement. Her muscles were so tense, they were beginning to vibrate. She was not used to waiting like this, and the strain was beginning to take a toll.

Then she saw a flash of movement through the tombs. Freaky rose off the ground into a crouch, and she placed a hand on his head to restrain him. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring him.

Then she saw clearly in a shaft of moonlight three women walking. The first was shrouded in a black cloak and her movements were effortless, graceful. Desdemona was sure this was the witch she sought. Behind her trailed two others, girls who were clearly under her power. They moved stiffly, their movements not quite their own. Their heads were bowed and there were gags in their mouths. The first had pale hair that shimmered in the moonlight.

The second was Claudia.

Desdemona scowled, wondering how Claudia had been captured and what, if anything, she had told the witch about her. Her presence did solidify one thing in her mind. The witch had either known or suspected that Desdemona would be coming.

So far, though, she’d given no indication that she’d sensed Desdemona’s presence, so she stayed still in her hiding place, her hand on Freaky’s head, and watched to see what the witch would do next.

The small procession stopped in front of the Voodoo Queen’s crypt. Desdemona had a perfect vantage point from where she crouched in the darkness. The witch produced an athame from beneath her cloak.

“Give me your hand,” she said to the blond girl.

The girl held out her hand with the same jerky movements that proved she was being controlled. The witch sliced open her finger with the tip of the athame and then pulled the girl up next to the outside of the tomb and, grasping her hand, drew three large
X
’s with the girl’s blood.

She was making a petition after all, though something about the entire scene seemed false to Desdemona. Still, she watched, hoping to learn more about her enemy before she struck.

“O Marie Laveau, dark priestess, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, we come here tonight seeking your favor and asking that you grant us this boon,” the witch said in a high-pitched voice.

Run.

Desdemona didn’t have time for Samantha’s cowardice. She just wanted her to keep still so she could focus all her attention on the witch.

The witch knelt down in front of the tomb and lifted slender white arms skyward. “Listen to me, and answer the cry of one of the daughters of the darkness who has come before you in all humility to ask that your spirit move on my behalf.”

Run now.

Freaky began to stir and she willed him to be quiet. Maybe she should dispel his energy for the moment since he might give away their position.

“I ask that you restore to me everything that I have lost, and most important, O great Queen, I ask that you deliver my enemy into my hand.”

The witch rose and spun around. “Oh, look,” she said almost conversationally, “you already have.”

Before Desdemona could move, the doors on the crypts behind her exploded in a shower of debris, which rained down upon her. Freaky jumped out of the way with a growl and slunk away into the darkness. Desdemona stood, lunged forward, and then fell flat on her face. Something was gripping her ankles like a vise and had tripped her. She glanced over her shoulder, and what she saw sent a wave of terror through her.

There was movement in the open tombs; she could hear things slithering in the darkness. Bony white fingers emerged from one, followed by a grinning skull. The skeletons were crawling out of their graves. Worse, the first one already had a hold on her, its bony fingers wrapped around her ankles.

She screamed and sent a burst of energy into it, but nothing happened.

“You can’t harm the dead,” the witch said with a shrill laugh. “Although feel free to try. They, on the other hand, can certainly harm you.”

Desdemona lifted her hands and tried to disperse the bones, but they hung together, refusing to move.

“It’s a matter of wills, dear, and I’m afraid mine’s stronger than yours.”

Panicking, Desdemona kicked and thrashed, trying to destroy the skeleton, but it remained intact as the others crawled up and grabbed her legs. One, dressed in a few rags, crawled up her body and she thrashed in terror, sending out bursts of energy and fire that should have turned the bones to ash but didn’t. She could feel its bony frame pressing down first on her legs, then on her lower back as it slithered over her. It was heavy and it felt like a lead weight and it was crushing her. She could smell death and decay all around her.

“This is impossible!” she screamed.

“No, it’s magic.”

Bony fingers caught her wrists and pressed them down into the earth. She was completely powerless.

“You know, you might think it just coincidence, you, me, a graveyard. It’s not, though. Everything is connected. You understand that, right?” the witch said.

“Let me go!” Desdemona screamed.

“So that you can kill me? I don’t think so. You know, I did give you a sporting chance. I even knelt down and turned my back to you and you didn’t take the opportunity. You know what that tells me?”

“No.”

“Deep down, you don’t want to kill me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Ah, but it is. Because you see, you have questions, and if you had killed me when you had the opportunity, you never would have gotten any answers, would you? You know what they say about curiosity and cats? Well, you should have listened.”

“I will kill you, answers or no,” Desdemona hissed. “I want you dead more than I want to know anything from you.”

“See, that’s what you say, but I don’t think so. You want answers. More than that, you want truth. Well, truth I can give you.”

Desdemona continued to struggle, but nothing she did seemed to help. The weight of the skeleton on her back was slowly pressing her into the hard ground, and her ribs were beginning to bruise.

“So, time for some truth to be told,” the witch said. “A circle is a powerful symbol, ancient, primitive, perfect, divine. It has no end or beginning and it is impenetrable.”

Desdemona wondered what on earth she was going on about.

“You know, three makes a circle,” the witch said, stretching out her hands. Claudia and the other girl’s arms jerked upward, as if they were being pulled on strings. The three linked hands.

“You see, a circle. The circle is life, and fellowship, and power, and protection. The circle is everything. It can be large or it can be small. But you want to know one of the most interesting things about a circle?”

“What?” Desdemona asked.

“You can have a circle with only two. Which means we don’t need her.” The woman dropped Claudia’s hand, gave a quick flip of her wrist, and Claudia’s neck snapped. A moment later the body fell to the ground. Just like that, she was gone.

The witch used her free hand to grab the blond girl’s suddenly freed hand. “You see, just two to make a circle. Just two to create and destroy. You just need two.”

“What is wrong with you?” Desdemona asked.

The witch shook her head. “The real question here is, what is wrong with you that you haven’t figured that out yet?”

The witch spun around and around with the other girl, who was still moving so stiffly that Desdemona was sure she would trip and fall at any moment.

“Oh, the things you can do with two that you can’t do with just one,” the witch said. “And yet how sad, how pathetic, that you still think you can do everything on your own.”

“I don’t need you or anyone,” Desdemona raged.

“Well, clearly you need someone. Otherwise, you’re going to get in trouble,” the witch said in a singsong voice, spinning faster now and yanking the other girl along.

Suddenly the blond girl did trip and she fell to her knees. The witch stopped spinning and let go of her hands. “You know the only trouble with a circle?” she asked, and Desdemona couldn’t tell if she was talking to her or the girl.

“What?” Desdemona asked.

“It’s not for the weak.” The witch held up her hand and in one moment ripped the girl’s power from her. She fell to the ground, dead, only a skull where a face had once been.

She was crazy and she was stronger than Desdemona.

The witch turned and snapped her fingers. The skeleton on Desdemona’s back crawled off her and she gasped, taking in a deep breath as her lungs were able to expand fully again. Then the skeletons hauled her to her feet. She fought, but they were stronger than they could ever have been in life. She tried to send a wave of killing energy through the ground to the witch.

She laughed and absorbed it with ease. “Thanks, I needed a little pick-me-up,” she said.

Desdemona called a fireball to her fingers and threw it as best she could.

The witch easily redirected it.

Desdemona tried to pull the power from the witch, who just laughed as her efforts had absolutely no effect.

“Really, these are the attempts of a weak and frightened child,” the witch said. “Frankly, I expected more from you. Much, much more.”

She snapped her fingers and the skeletons let go so suddenly that Desdemona staggered to catch her balance.

Just as she straightened she heard a sound from her nightmares, growling, snarling, unearthly, and unmistakable for anything else. Hellhounds. They were headed her way.

Desdemona froze for a second. Then she snatched the athame up off the ground, sliced open her hand, and began to spin in a circle, creating a circle of blood to protect her. Her heart was pounding and she was dizzy, but she knew she couldn’t rush it; she had to do it right. One little gap in the circle and it wouldn’t keep anything out.

She was nearly done and the snarling was getting closer, louder. She could almost swear she felt a blast of air from one of the foul creatures and the stench of rotting flesh. Her hand jerked slightly and blood dripped erratically.

She turned the last quarter circle.

“They’re here,” the witch said again, in her singsong voice.

Desdemona looked up. There, standing on either side of the witch, were the two biggest hellhounds she had ever seen. The beasts were monstrous. They were almost the size of small horses, but roughly dog shaped. They had mouthfuls of fangs several inches long, glowing black eyes, and quills like a porcupine’s that flared next to their spines. They could have been brothers to the one that had tormented her as a child.

The witch stood between them and she put her hands on their heads, as though they were pets. “What will happen to you when I let my babies have their way with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I am protected,” Desdemona snarled. “And I’ll soon find a way to kill your babies and you.”

The witch tsked at her. “I don’t think so.”

“You said it yourself, the circle is protection. And sooner or later you’ll make a mistake.”

“Circles can protect us, that is true, if we are clever and worthy and do everything just right. You know another thing about a circle?” the witch shouted. “It connects us all!” She snapped her fingers and the circle of Desdemona’s blood caught on fire, flames shooting eight feet into the air. And in one sickening moment Desdemona could see the one tiny spot where there was no blood. The circle was broken. It had to have been when her hand jerked; that was the only explanation. She could try to close it now, but that would mean thrusting her hand into the flames.

The witch cackled as though sensing her dilemma. “Just how much is the circle worth to you?” she asked.

Suddenly a second wall of flame leaped up around Desdemona, this one a complete circle, hemming her in and keeping her from being able to reach the one she’d drawn.

“You’re not fireproof,” the witch said. “Luckily for me, my babies are.”

She swept her hands forward and the two hellhounds began advancing. Desdemona looked around frantically. There was no way out, nothing she could use. Inside her, Samantha was screaming something, but she couldn’t understand her.

The hellhounds were just outside the first circle. In a moment they would be upon her. She had seen what it looked like when a hellhound tore someone apart. There was no hope.

A sudden high-pitched scream startled both of the hellhounds, and they half turned just as a massive black form launched itself out of the darkness and landed on the back of the first one and sank its fangs into the beast’s neck.

Freaky had come to her rescue.

The second hellhound turned to aid its brother, and Desdemona leaped through the first wall of flame. She shoved her hand into the second, and her blood sealed the gap in her circle.

Her skin began to bubble. She tried to snuff the flames, but when she did, they only leaped higher into the sky. She began to choke as they sucked the oxygen out of the air. Beyond the wall of fire Freaky continued to battle the two hellhounds. She couldn’t tell who was winning, but she had to hope her cat could hold his own.

She tried again to snuff the flames and again they just doubled in size. The witch had done something to them, something that made them behave in an unnatural way, the opposite of what they should.

So maybe she needed to do the opposite to quench them. She summoned her energy and tried to fan the flames. They lessened, not by much, but they did lessen. She could hear the screams from Freaky and the hounds. She knew that the witch was out there and she wished she could tell Freaky to attack her instead.

She tried again to fan the flames and they dropped down to their original size just in time for her to see Freaky being pinned by one hound. She tried to scream, but the oxygen was gone. Her eyes were burning and her skin was turning black. She was dying.

Suddenly the flames were extinguished as if blown out by a giant. She fell to her knees, choking. She grabbed hold of the earth, but it was scorched and charred and nothing living was growing in it.

Something the size of a bull leaped over her, scattering everything before it. Two hands reached down and grabbed her. She glanced up and saw the face of the Druid.

“I’m here to help,” he said, hefting her into his arms. He began to run and she felt as if her body was breaking apart.

Moments later she was being laid down in the back of a car. She heard doors slam, followed by the squeal of tires.

“My name is Thomas. I won’t hurt you.”

She couldn’t answer.

“It was foolish to take her on in the state that you’re in. If she’d wanted to she could have killed you.”

Desdemona didn’t have time to ponder his words. She was busy pulling energy from everything she could. A moment later the car sputtered to a halt and died.

Thomas swore and slammed his hand down on the dashboard. “You drained the battery. Don’t do that. I need to get you to a place where you can get some real energy, enough to actually heal.”

She could feel him push energy back into the car battery, and it took all her will not to drain it. The car came back to life and moments later jounced along, every bump sending an agony of fire through her body. She didn’t know how long they traveled, but she was pretty sure she blacked out at least once.