Dead Rising (14 page)

Was I imagining it, or did I see him wince, his dark eyes flashing a sadness I’d not seen before?

“Fine. I’ll wait in the library. Please send word as soon as you’ve discovered something.”

I gave a sharp nod and turned.

“Aria?”

I hesitated at the doorway.

“I don’t normally have such poor control over my baser impulses, but you…you are so very tempting.”

My breath quickened at his husky voice. The thought of his teeth against my neck, the hunger in his dark eyes, the scent of cinnamon and myrrh. I closed my eyes and forced away the visual of his body above mine.

“Forgiven. Just don’t let it happen again.”

I walked out of the room without looking back, well aware that part of me longed for it to happen again, for
it
to go all the way to completion. And well aware he knew it.

I
FELT LIKE
my eyes were about to bleed. Or fall out. Either one. We’d been at it all night. I wondered if Dario was still hanging out in the library or if he’d gotten bored and went off to…I don’t know, play X-box or something.

“Here.” Dad pushed a book toward me. It smelled of mothballs, which didn’t say much for whatever preservationist had worked on it.

“Voodoo? In Baltimore? I’m thinking more like this.” I shoved a different book his way. One that smelled a whole lot better.

“Wendigo. Peterson did know his stuff.”

“This symbol here that we thought might allude to Mars? I think the rounded end here is actually part of this other section with the circle, which would turn this into—”

“Saturn. Good job, Solaria.” Dad’s smile was unusually warm. “Saturn fits in with the whole dead theme we’ve got going on here.”

“Voodoo doesn’t normally employ sigils, so if the practitioner is incorporating that branch of magic into his spell, he’d also have a focus item. A lock of hair or something similar.”

“Wendigo would mean cannibalistic undead. Did your vampires have any evidence of eaten corpses?”

“They didn’t elaborate. All I got from them was the symbol. The specters raised at the cemetery had malevolent intent, but they were non-corporeal. They might kill, but I doubt they’d consume.”

Dad sighed. “I’m wondering if the practitioner isn’t using a voodoo symbol in combination with European necromantic practices. I wish we knew more about how the Baltimore
Balaj
got ahold of this. Vampires. Not the best at communication, are they?”

Understatement of the year.

“You’ve worked with vampires before?” He knew about them, obviously. He’d probably encountered them off and on during his studies. But, the way he’d said that last sentence, the easy tone, led me to believe he’d had a far more intimate encounter with this particular branch of the undead then I’d ever suspected.

“Yes.” His smile was a hint nostalgic. “And they are difficult to resist. Almost as seductive as magic’s left-hand path. Don’t let that sexy boy out there turn you into his blood slave, Aria. He’ll be your friend, lure you in with mystery and the promise of knowledge. Then the monster will appear when you are too far gone to resist.”

“Did you…?”

“No. I’ve never been so tempted that I’ve allowed one to bite me. But I’ve seen it happen. And I, myself, have felt that temptation. Once you give in, you are forever lost. Like an addict, all you’ll think of is him. You’ll only exist for those moments with him, for the times when he feeds from you. You’re strong, but don’t become overconfident. Vampires love those who have a toe in the water of sin, and pride is their favorite.”

His words were painful. I knew I couldn’t go there, but part of me toyed with the idea of sex with Dario. Part of me wanted to experience the feel of sharing blood with a vampire. Part of me just wanted to lose myself, my identity, in a sea of lust. Forever and ever, amen.

Then my thoughts shifted from Dario to a non-corporeal being of black vapor and red coal. That had not been sexy. That had been terrifying. Still, the thought of magic, that gray area where black wasn’t really black, appealed to me. It drew me in even more than Dario’s dark eyes.

“What about demons?”

Dad closed the Peterson book and pulled a grimoire toward him. “I didn’t see any sigils that I recognized in the symbol, but we can check.”

I put a hand on the leather cover. “Not the symbol. I mean, have you ever worked with demons.”

His hand rested on top of mine. Again I saw the mottled skin, the bones beneath, and wondered how much longer I’d have these conversations with him. Great-grandma Essie had gotten me used to the idea of longevity, but she had outlived her husband, her children, and most of her grandchildren. Who’s to say she wouldn’t outlive
this
grandson?

“I worried when you started associating with those magicians up in D.C. I let it go because knowledge is critical to all Templars, and it’s always beneficial to have contacts in the magical community. If I’d had any idea they were summoning, I would have put a lid on that right away.”

It was one of our mandates, to escort Pilgrims on the Path. My dad felt that it didn’t matter which path as long as it led toward the light. Associating with demons was not a rung on the stairway to heaven. Still, there was plenty of gray area, and we Templars argued about it endlessly. “
Haul Du
only summoned information demons.”

I heard his sharp inhalation. “That’s cheating. Summoning a demon for what you could obtain through research is lazy. And any contact with demons comes with a price. Information demons may not be the most dangerous of hell’s minions, but it’s a slippery slope, Solaria. Don’t risk your soul for a shortcut.”

I winced. “There are many magicians throughout time who have summon demons. The grimoires are full of rituals and sigils for doing so. King Solomon commanded demons.”

His head pivoted, and I felt the weight of his stare. “You are no King Solomon. And those magic-users from history eventually came to a grisly end. Demons always demand their pound of flesh. Just bringing them into this world can establish a permanent connection. And once they have their claws in a soul, they never let go.”

I felt sick. Really, really sick. Maybe some demons were like that but the Goetic demons were helpful. Angels rarely answered a summons, why not turn to those who actually would? We don’t judge. Not after our shameful acts during the crusades. Judging good and evil was for God, not us mortals, so shouldn’t we take information where we found it?

“Knowledge is Truth,” I recited.

“Knowledge is Truth,” my father repeated. It was one of our mantras, one of the Templar code phrases. And it was my justification for delving deeper into ceremonial magic than Templars usually did. Knowledge was one thing, practice was another. I’d crossed the line as far as my father was concerned, but I wasn’t a Knight, and I wasn’t bound by the same convoluted set of rules as he was.

And it was time to get back to the topic at hand, because I really wanted to wrap all this up, get some sleep, survive tomorrow’s “family” activities, then get back to Baltimore and make some lattes.

“We know the ritual has an appeal to the dead,” I said. “I saw the specters raised from the graves, and that’s illustrated by this sigil representing Saturn. Then there’s the invocation to life—the double circle. These dual lines lead me to believe the summoning involves a physical body, and that’s backed up by the portion we’re attributing to voodoo or Native American rituals.”

My father adjusted his glasses and peered closer at the paper. “But the spirits raised in the cemetery were spirits, not zombies or ghouls. Did the physical portion of the symbol not work correctly?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

I had what the vampires wanted. This was a personal symbol for use in a necromantic ritual to raise the dead—raise a physical form of the dead regardless of the state of decomposition. I wasn’t paid for my concerns about its effectiveness given what I’d seen at the Robertson’s graves. Case closed. Convey the information to Leonora as soon as I was back in Baltimore, collect my money. Hide it in the tampon box, and go back to my life.

But I couldn’t quiet the questions hammering their way through my mind. Why were the vampires interested in a mage who raised specters, or even the dead in physical form? And voodoo or wendigo? Which path was the spell oriented toward? Because that meant a whole world of difference when it came to the intent behind the spell. Plus there was the question I’d had for days—what did the Robertsons have to do with any of this?

Dad shrugged. “I think you’ve gone as far as you can without more information from the vampires. It’s a custom crafted spell to bring the dead to life. What kind of dead, and what sort of purpose they are resurrected for has yet to be seen.”

“We know the practitioner is a necromancer. They summon the dead for servitude, to commune with lost loved ones, or to determine past events.”

“Necromancers in the past have summoned armies of the dead to fight for them. Modern ones are not always so violent. As you mentioned, this necromancer’s intentions may be benign, but don’t discount a darker motive.”

Parents. They were always warning their children to be careful.

“Got it.” I scraped my chair away from the metal table. “Love you, Dad.”

He squirmed when I kissed his cheek. I didn’t care. This was who I was, and I wasn’t about to leave this house without my father knowing how much I cared about him.

“Should I give your excuses to your mother?”

“No. I’ll be here for breakfast. And basket weaving or whatever she’s got planned for tomorrow.”

It was four-thirty in the morning. Even if I drove like a bat out of hell I couldn’t get Dario back to Baltimore before he turned into a pile of ash.

“Your friend is still waiting for you. Want me to put together an early breakfast?”

I shook my head. “Go to bed, Dad. It’s late and I know you’ll be up with the sun frying French toast. Dario and I will raid the fridge for leftovers. Then we’ll go upstairs and swap bodily fluids.”

Dad hugged me tight and kissed the top of my head. It was an unusual display of emotion. “I’m so glad you’re here, Solaria. And you, my little Knight, are incorrigible.”

I was. I didn’t have any intention of changing. And I wasn’t a Knight.

D
ARIO WAS WAITING
for me in the library. He appeared composed as usual, but I felt an odd tension radiating from his body.

“If we leave now, we’ll be close to D.C. come sunrise. There’s a sanctuary you can drop me at for the day.”

I plopped down on the sofa next to him, exhausted. “I know I said I didn’t want to go through another day of ‘family time’, but I don’t trust myself driving right now. It won’t be a big deal. You can spend one more day in the dragon room. I’ll probably sleep until noon anyway, unless Mom gets some wild hair and decides we all need to go to early church service. We’ll leave right at sunset.”

“I think we should leave now. I can drive if you’re too tired.”

Why the hurry? And why hadn’t he asked me about what I’d discovered while in the vault? I would have thought he’d be eager to pump me for info. Although maybe that’s why he was so eager to get back. Had something come up that made him want to rush back to Baltimore?

“Uh, no. The last time you drove I got abandoned in a scary section of town without so much as a goodbye kiss. One more night won’t kill us.”

“It might,” he muttered as he stood. I bit back a smile, wondering if Essie had cornered him in the library while I’d been nose-deep in dusty manuscripts. The mental image of my great-grandmother chasing a vampire around the room was pretty amusing.

“Let’s grab some leftovers out of the fridge. It’s been forever since dinner and I’m starving.”

I walked past him and he followed me into the kitchen where we stood and ate chunks of cold roast beef without plate or utensils. I was practically asleep on my feet, but I followed him up to his room and dropped down on the bed, covering a yawn with my hand.

Dario stood in the doorway. “I thought you were tired.”

“I am.” I patted the bed beside me. “I figured you’d want to hear what I discovered before you went down for your daytime slumber.”

He hesitated, then walked over to lean against one of the bed posts. “It can wait until tomorrow night.”

“Why not now? I found out that the symbol is part of a necromantic spell to return the dead to life. The symbol was personally crafted, a blend of different magicks, so whoever put it together is an experienced mage—someone who knows their stuff. Probably someone older. That level of magic usually requires many decades of dedicated study.”

He sat down, reluctance vanishing. “What kind of life does it grant to the dead? Ghosts? Zombies? Are they just animated or sentient? How long do they live once risen, and what determines which dead it brings to life? Is it an area of effect or targeted? If targeted, what kind of focus or personal item is needed?”

Whoa. Like seriously, whoa. Dario was far more knowledgeable about necromantic magic than I’d suspected. And the questions he was asking were a whole lot more than I’d bargained for when I’d asked Leonora for five grand. I doubted I could answer half of them without some kind of Vulcan mind-meld with the caster.

“The symbol indicates a physical body will be risen, but the one time I’ve seen it used it only brought forth specters.”

The vampire leaned closer to me. “You’ve seen it used? When? Who cast the spell?”

I got the uncomfortable feeling that I’d said too much and frantically wondered how I was going to backpedal on this one. “I didn’t see the caster, only the specters. The mark was on the graves. I’m assuming it might have been a test run—one that failed since no physical body rose from the grave.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied with my explanation. “How long did the specters remain?”

“They weren’t friendly, so I didn’t hang around. They were gone the next morning.”

“How can you discover more? I’m assuming since it’s a personal symbol, you’ve exhausted all your Templar resources?”