Dime Store Magic (26 page)
Recognition penetrated my panic. I looked up to see Cortez. For one second, relief flooded through me. Then I remembered his betrayal. As I pushed away from him, I saw that his glasses were gone. In fact, the downtrodden-lawyer getup had been replaced by khakis, a leather jacket, and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt. An outfit far more befitting a young Cabal lawyer. How had I been so easily deceived!
"Oh, God, Savannah—" I said.
I dove for the door. The demon dog sprang to life, lunging at me. I spun on my heel and shoved Cortez hard, trying to get past him and run the other way. He grabbed me around the waist and yanked me off my feet.
"Savannah is this way, Paige. You have to go through it."
He started pushing me into the jaws of the beast. I clawed at him, scratched, kicked, flailed. My nails connected with something and he gasped, loosening his grip just enough for me to squirm free. I lunged forward, but he grabbed me again, wrapping his arms around my chest.
"Goddamn it, Paige! Listen to me! Savannah is that way! There's nothing there! It's a hallucination!"
"I'm not halluc—"
He wrenched me around to face the demon beast. It was gone.
"Damn it, watch!" he grunted as I elbowed him in the stomach.
Holding me in one arm, he waved his hand into the air before us. The cloud of red smoke returned, contorting into a massive pair of snarling jaws. I fought with renewed strength, but Cortez managed to keep hold of me and force me to watch.
The smoke writhed and pulsed, changing into something that resembled a dragon, with fangs, a forked tongue, and blazing eyes. Then, the dragon vanished, becoming the demon dog again, slavering and straining as if on a short lead.
"A vision," he said. "A conjuring. Dime-store magic. It acts like a tripwire. Gabriel Sandford set them up by all the exits. Now, Savannah is safe and waiting for us—"
I wrenched free and dashed in the opposite direction. Ahead of me, a shape emerged from a doorway. I didn't slow, just put out my hands, ready to push the person aside. Then he turned toward me. It was a man, naked, skin glowing pale in the dim light. The top of his head was missing. His chest was cut open in a Y from shoulder to chest and down to his pelvis. I could see ribs, sawed open. As he stepped forward, something fell from his chest, hit the floor with a splat. He looked at me, lips parting. I screamed.
Cortez's hands closed around my waist. He yanked me into the air and half-carried, half-dragged me down the hall. When we hit the spot where we'd struggled earlier, the dragon reappeared. I closed my eyes and fought harder.
Seconds later, I felt a rush of air and opened my eyes to see Cortez pushing through the exit door. Behind us, the demonic dog slavered and snarled at nothing. Cortez heaved me off my feet and carried me out the door. Only when we were in the parking lot did he let me down.
"If you'll look over there," he said, panting, "you'll see Savannah in your car."
When my feet touched earth, I shoved him away and looked out over the hospital parking lot. I saw my car—and I saw no one in it.
"Goddamn it!" he said, looking about as he wiped blood from the furrows I'd left in his cheek. "Where the hell is she?"
"I swear, if you've hurt her—"
"There," he said, striding away. "Savannah! I told you to stay in the car."
"And you thought I'd listen?" Savannah replied from behind me. "You cast a lousy lock spell, sorcerer. Hey, Paige, come over here. You've got to see this."
Even as I was turning, she ran off, leaving me with only a glimpse of her T-shirt. I raced after her, Cortez jogging behind. We rounded the corner to see her at another door. Before I could stop her, she vanished inside. I dashed forward, catching the door before it closed. Savannah stood inside, her back to us.
"Watch," she said.
She waved her hand in front of her. For a second, nothing happened.
Then particles of gray floated in from all directions until they formed a loose ball above Savannah's head. I braced myself for the snarling beast.
Instead the gray dust assembled itself into a woman's face, then pieces of it fell away, revealing a grinning skull. The mouth opened in silent laughter and the skull spun three times, then vanished.
"Cool, huh?" Savannah said. "It's sorcerer stuff. Can you do this, Lucas?"
"Dime-store magic," he said, wheezing to catch his breath.
She grinned at him. "You can't, can you? Bet I could." She waved her hand again, triggering the spell. "That is so cool. You get near the door and it goes off. They're at all the doors." She looked at me for the first time. "You don't look so good, Paige. Are you okay?"
"Leah… Sandford," I managed, still winded from panic. "We have to go. Before they—"
"They're long gone," Savannah said. "When I got outside, I saw Leah, and I was just about to run when Lucas grabbed me. I slugged him one,
and—" She stopped and pointed to the scratches on his face. "Hey, did I do that?"
"No, I believe that would be Paige. The bruise from your blow hasn't had time to rise yet. Now, as Savannah is trying to say, Leah and Sandford have left—"
"Oh, right," she continued. "So, Lucas grabs me and I fight, then Leah does her stuff and sends us flying. Before she can get to me, though, this other guy—Sandford, I guess—cuts her off, and he says something to her and they leave."
"They just walk away?" I said, turning to Cortez. "How… convenient."
"No, wait," Savannah said. "That's the good part. See, they can't touch Lucas because he's—"
"Not now, Savannah," Cortez said.
"But you have to tell her. Or she won't understand."
"Yes," I said. "You have to tell me. Or I'm walking away and the next time I see you—"
"You didn't call Robert, I presume?"
"He's out of town. And I want to hear it from you. Right now."
Cortez shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll require the extended explanation, for which there isn't time at the moment. However, I will explain as soon as we are safely away from this place."
"Hey, Paige," Savannah said. "Did you see Lucas's bike?"
She raced around the corner before I could stop her. When I caught up, I found her crouching beside, not a bicycle, but a motorcycle.
"It's a Scout," she said. "An Indian Scout. It's, like, an antique. What year did you say again?"
"It's from 1926, but we need to leave, Savannah."
"It's a collector's item," Savannah said. "Really rare."
"Expensive, huh?" I said, shooting a look at Cortez. "Like the designer shirt. Pretty sharp for a struggling lawyer."
"I restored the bike. As for the clothing, a suit is hardly appropriate for motorcycle riding. My wardrobe contains a limited supply of casual wear, the majority of it gifts from my family whose budget and taste exceed my own. Now, we really should—"
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
Cortez made a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl of frustration. "Paige, this is not the time—"
"I'm not being difficult. I don't think it's a good idea to run. People in there saw me. They'll tell the police, who'll come after me and wonder why I took off."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Quite right. I'd suggest we find an officer to take your statement."
"First, I'm getting those people out, before someone has a heart attack."
Savannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Who cares about them? They wouldn't help you. Tell her, Lucas."
"She's right. Paige, I mean. We should get them out."
"Not you, too," Savannah said. "Oh, God. I'm surrounded."
I waved her to silence and we headed for the back door.
I won't give a play-by-play of what happened next. Between the two of us, Cortez and I managed to undo all of Sandford's spells, unlocking the jammed doors and disengaging the tripwire illusions.
As for Cary and the other walking dead, they simply stopped walking.
By the time everyone escaped and the authorities got inside, the necromancer's incantation had worn off. Or so Cortez explained. As I've said, I know nothing about raising the dead. Any necromancer can do it, but I've never met one who dared. The necromancers I know use their power only for communicating with spirits. Returning a soul to a dead body is against every moral code in the supernatural world.
In the chaos outside the funeral home, it took me twenty minutes to find a police officer, who insisted I follow him to the station and give my statement.
Of course, the police thought I'd played a role in what happened. Yet they didn't know
what
had happened. Sure, they heard the stories, witness after witness babbling about dead people walking and talking. But when the police had finally entered the building, they found only corpses strewn across the floor. Horrifying, yes, but hardly proof of the unthinkable.
When I told my story, I repeated only those portions I deemed believable. I'd been lured to the memorial service and tricked into entering the crowded hallway of mourners. Then the lights had gone out. Someone had shoved me into the visitation room and bolted the door. I'd heard
people screaming, but could see very little in the near-dark. Soon I found my way into a back passage and escaped.
I did admit that, while escaping, I encountered a frightening image blocking the hall, but I'd passed through it without incident and figured it must have been some kind of hologram. Finally, themselves dazed with disbelief and information-overload, the police had to let me go. My story made sense and it checked out against that of the witnesses—barring the fact that I hadn't seen the dead rise. With no small reluctance, they released me.