Doomsday Can Wait (35 page)

There, that was more like the new me.

I tried to sweep her legs from beneath her. But she jumped my sweep, then hovered above me.

I leaped upward, very Matrix-like, and tried a roundhouse kick. She leaned back and my foot missed. My momentum swung me downward so fast I nearly ate dirt before I managed to get my hands in front of me.

"How to kill a vampire," she mused.

My back exposed, I flipped over just as she snapped her fingers. A wooden stake appeared in her hand, and as she threw the thing, I rolled. The stake stuck in the ground where my heart had just been.

Fire billowed all around me. Beyond the flames, the
Naye'i
seemed to dance.

"I'll kill you every way there is to kill a vampire. Little by little you'll die; then I'll do it again. And when you're nothing more than a pile of blood and empty skin—no Sawyer, no robe, no way to shift and heal— then the gates of hell will fly open, and I will rule every demon on this earth."

"Killing me will open Tartarus?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Can't hurt."

"Do you
know
how?"

I leaped through the fire; the places it burned healed almost instantly.

The
Naye'i
looked as if she'd sucked on a lemon.

"You think I'd tell you?"

"Can't hurt."

"This might," she said, and opening her arms, fingers spread wide, she swept her hands toward me.

Rocks flew, hundreds of them in all shapes and sizes, raining down on me, crushing me into the earth, piling up until I was buried.

When things stopped pinging against the cairn, I shoved upward and they all fell away. "What the hell was that?" I asked.

"Cover a vampire's grave with stones and she will never rise."

"I'm not
dead"
I said.

"Good point." She flicked her wrist and something small and sharp and shiny flew, sticking in my temple before I could catch it.

"Ouch!" I yanked out a three-inch nail, and the
Naye'i
shrieked her fury to the stars.

"Why don't you die?"

"Why don't you?" I countered.

She was trying to kill me nature by nature—a common cure. I'd tried it myself with Jimmy, hadn't managed it yet. But killing a vampire/dhampir/skinwalker was going to be a very neat trick. Not that she couldn't do it if I kept letting her try. Sooner or later the woman of smoke was going to hit on something that did kill a vampire, and then she'd ease on down the road to the next nature. I had to take away her magic, and thanks to Whitelaw I knew how.

"I hate to keep calling you psycho hell bitch," I said. "Though it does fit."

She flicked her wrist and a gun appeared. Before she could point it in my direction, I smacked the weapon out of her hand, and it slid across the dirt with a metallic ping-ping-ping. When she predictably went for my throat, I snatched those hands in mine and murmured, "What is your name?"

It was an old trick but a good one. She didn't have time to block me, to think of something else, to even figure out what I was doing. I touched her just as she thought,
Lilith.

"Lilith?" I let her momentum carry her past me, and when I released her she sprawled in the dirt. "Not
the
Lilith?"

The woman of smoke flipped onto her back.

"You can't be that Lilith."

Her eyes widened as she realized what I meant to do. Her arm began to rise, no doubt to throw some other deadly magic my way, but I finished the spell with a final, "Lilith."

She screamed, but instead of sound a cloud of black sparkly dust rose from her mouth, swirling away on the wind and disappearing into the night.

"Aw. I think that was your magic. Bummer," I said, and decked her.

I had vampire strength; she flew about ten feet, scrambled to get up, and I hit her again.

She'd had the advantage as an evil witch, but without the witch, she was just evil.

That made two of us.

She landed on the far side of the gun, which lay about halfway between us. With my vampire speed I snatched the thing before she could slither in its direction, then pressed the muzzle to her temple.

The woman of smoke froze; her burning black eyes rolled up to mine, and she sneered. "Go ahead."

My finger twitched. The idea of blowing her brains to kingdom come was so damn appealing, but something stopped me. Probably the smirk lurking beneath her sneer.

"You'll just heal," I murmured, and tossed the gun far, far away.

The smirk bloomed. "I can heal anything."

"Heal this," I said, and pulled a Jimmy—tore her apart like the wishbone on a chicken.

I could never have done it if I'd remained human. Not only the lack of strength but the yuck factor. However, in my present state, I found the spray of blood exquisite.

The temptation to let it wash over me, feel the heat and the life and the energy against my skin, was nearly overwhelming. I probably would have done it, except the body stood up and reached for me.

"Oh, come
on!"
I stumbled back, and what was left of the woman of smoke followed.

"Give me my head."

I glanced down. I still held the skull in one hand, and it was talking. My life was a Tim Burton movie.

The body kept coming; the hands weren't reaching for me but for the severed head. Once retrieved, would they then set it back on the gushing neck, and would the wound heal?

"How do I end her?" I muttered, my mind grasping for every detail I'd heard, everything that I'd learned.

She no longer possessed any magic; all she had left was the spirit of evil. There'd been something, somewhere about evil.

The truth hit me like a spotlight. The memory of what I'd seen in Sawyer's dream when I'd walked there—words the shade of fresh blood splayed across the pristine white ceiling.

"Toss evil to the four winds," I whispered.

"No!" shrieked the woman of smoke.

Which made tossing seem like a helluva good idea.

I threw the still screaming head to the north with all of my strength, then finished the job by sending the arms to the east, the legs to the west, and the rest down south.

Welcome silence settled over the mountain, but it didn't last. At first I thought she was coming back, because the shrieking that had faded to nothing as the woman of smoke was carried away on the four winds got louder and louder until it surrounded me. An ocean of sound blaring in my too sensitive ears, driving me to the ground with my hands pressed to my head.

Even though my eyes were closed, I felt the light-dark, light-dark flickers across my face and forced myself to look at the moon.

Ghostly shadows pranced across the surface too quickly for me to determine what they were.

'That can't be good," I murmured, even as something inside of me rejoiced and whispered:
They are free.

CHAPTER 34

The sun shining across my face woke me. Or maybe it was the sensation of being watched. Because I opened my eyes to discover myself surrounded.

I snarled and did a backflip, landing in a crouch. A growl rumbled low in my throat. All that goodness made my head ache.

In the bright light of morning, the colors of the world seemed epic. The jewels on the collar in Sawyer's hand nearly blinded me.

"What's wrong with her?"

The kid—Luther, I remembered—appeared horrified. I lifted my top lip and gave him a good view of my fangs, then found myself distracted by the throbbing vein in his neck. I could hear every one of their hearts beating; the swish of blood through their veins was a seductive whisper. I took a step forward and Jimmy blocked my way.

"She's gone vamp," he said, his voice so full of pain I breathed in. I could almost taste his tears.

"You said we could fix her," Luther whispered.

Mmm. The tremble in his voice, the fear on the wind.

"Not fix," Sawyer murmured. "At least not yet."

"Put the collar on her," Summer ordered. "Otherwise she's going to do to us what she did to the woman of smoke."

I remembered the geyser of blood. I wanted to see that again. My gaze crept over the four of them.

"Eenie, meenie, minee, mo," I whispered, and lunged at the fairy.

Sawyer's hand flicked out and sent me flying backward so hard my head thunked against the ground.

"Oh, God," Jimmy murmured.

"Quit whining," Sawyer ordered. "What's done is done. We have to move forward. Give me a hand."

My legs were pinned, so were my arms. I shrieked my fury to the sky, and in the distance, something answered. Sawyer cursed softly.

I could have taken every one of them separately. But together they were stronger, which only made me snarl and slaver and buck against the restraints.

I snapped at Sawyer's hands as he slid the collar around my neck. He smacked me in the nose like a bad dog, and my eyes watered. As soon as the latch clicked shut, I stilled.

Sawyer's eyes met mine. "Better?"

I nodded, and they released me, then backed up so fast I winced. Both at their reactions and at the memory of what I'd said and done and been.

I needed a shower, a scrub brush, and about a pound of soap. The woman of smoke's blood was speckled all over me; my hands and forearms appeared painted sienna, and the crust under my nails was so thick it felt as if I'd been digging in a garden for days.

A pile of clothes lay at my feet. I donned them quickly, no longer comfortable with my nakedness, even though fifty percent of the people here had seen it all before.

The shirt—BLACK SABBATH REUNION TOUR, ha-ha—was  obviously Sanducci's,  but  someone  had  gone through my bag and found my last pair of clean under-wear and shorts.

I glanced at Jimmy, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Luther sensed as if he expected me to attack him at any second. Summer wanted to slug me. We still had that in common. Only Sawyer appeared the same as when I'd last seen him.

My fingers brushed the collar. "What's this?"

"Bespelled," Sawyer answered. "While you wear it, you're you."

I lifted my hand, touched my teeth. The fangs were gore, along with the desire to tear out everyone's throat. But I didn't think I was me. Deep down inside, the demon still howled.

"Whose spell?" I asked, and Summer raised her hand. "You had to bespell a dog collar? Wouldn't the magic work just fine on a nice silver chain?"

Her lips curved. "Where would be the fun in that?"

I almost smiled back, and then I remembered the shrieking in the night, the strange flickers across the face of the moon, the roar in the distance in answer to my call.

"What happened?" Sawyer asked.

"I kicked her ass, then tossed her in pieces to the four winds."

Sawyer frowned. "That's an old Navajo saying."

"Which I got from an old Navajo."

His brow lifted and I shrugged. "Dream-walk world."

"Interesting," he murmured. "I always thought it was a proverb. Merely a short pithy way to tell the Diné how to live a good life." He flicked his hand toward the sky. "Figuratively, we must toss evil away."

"Worked pretty well literally, too."

"Fascinating," Sawyer said. "You found that old proverb in my head, and you didn't even know you would need it."

"Yeah, worked out great." I really didn't want to talk about it anymore. While I'd enjoyed the blood flow last night, this morning it was making me kind of ill.

"Once you tossed her," Summer interjected, "then what happened?"

They are free.

"Something got out."

Sawyer, Summer, and Jimmy exchanged glances. Luther had wandered off to peer at the dark patch of earth where I'd spilled the blood of the
Naye'i.
That probably wasn't healthy.

"Kid," I muttered. "Come back here."

Luther seemed like he wanted to tell me to kiss off. Instead he shrugged and strolled to Summer's side, where she took his hand. I frowned at the gesture, but it seemed more about comfort than anything else so I let it pass.

"What's free?" I asked.

"The Grigori," Sawyer said.

I opened my mouth to drop the F-bomb, caught a glimpse of Luther's face, and bit my lip instead. "That's impossible."

"Not according to Ruthie."

"Ruthie?" I racked my brain; I couldn't recall talking to her lately. But since the entire night between the death of the
Naye'i
and waking up this morning was a blank, who knew?

"Did I—"

"No," Sawyer answered. "You probably won't be hearing from her for a while."

"Because?"

"She's in heaven. No demons allowed."

Now I did drop the F-bomb. Couldn't help it. "Get this thing out of me."

"Baby—" Jimmy began, and I flicked him an evil glare, which he didn't see because he still couldn't look at me. "There's no getting rid of it."

"Confine it, refine it. Whatever Summer did to you, she can do to me."

The fairy choked.

I glanced at her and knew why. "It's a sex spell."

She shrugged. "You told me to do anything."

I was
so
sick of hearing that.

"Fine. Sawyer can do it."

"No," he said.

"No? You never had a problem before."

He sighed. "Ruthie doesn't want that."

"You seem to be pretty up on what Ruthie wants. She been talkin' to you?"

Sawyer shook his head, so did Summer, even Jimmy twitched—left, right—without ever meeting my eyes. Luther nodded.

My brows lifted. An interesting development. "What did she say?"

Luther opened his mouth, and Ruthie's voice came out. "Gates of hell done flew open, girl. Trouble ain't comin'; trouble's here."

"That's just creepy," I murmured.

Not only did the boy sound like Ruthie, but he now moved like her, too. Hand gestures, head tilts, even his eyes had darkened from gold to brown, or perhaps that was just the shadow of the sun across the mountain. Though I didn't think so.

"He's the most accomplished channeler I've ever seen," Sawyer said.

Channeling, a way to talk to the dead. Some people, like me, went to them. Others, like Luther apparently, allowed the dead to speak through them.