Necromancing the Stone (31 page)

She stared at his hands. His words rang in her head before bouncing down into her, knocking around inside, waking up all the emotions she’d lulled to sleep. The hurt. The worry. The overwhelming anger. She’d been lucky to get them to sleep in the first place. They weren’t going to be quiet again.

Brid grabbed Eric’s hand so fast he didn’t have time to react. His wrist was broken before he’d even cried out in surprise. Before any of his cronies could say a word, Eric was on the ground, bleeding and moaning. Brid had no sympathy for him. He’d heal, after all.

“I said don’t touch me.” She looked at the rest of his group. “Well?” She felt the rest of the pack closing in around them, circling. The weres looked nervous, but didn’t back away from where Eric lay.

Bran appeared at her side. “May I offer you my services,
taoiseach
?” The rest of her brothers joined her.

Brid pulled out her swords, making them appear from nowhere like always. They were her birthright, just like the bow Bran had inherited from their father. She hadn’t used them in battle since the last time they’d fought Douglas. She hadn’t needed to. “You guys take the ones to the sides. I’m going up the middle. Someone needs to teach them a lesson. Try not to do anything permanent.”

She didn’t hear her brothers agree. She was already following her own orders.

28

YOUR TURQUOISE AND SILVER WON’T WEAKEN THIS OLD HEART

My skull was being pecked in. That was what it felt like. I opened my eyes to see the big freaking crow I’d left an offering to, and the pecking feeling had been because, well, he was pecking me. Hard.

“Please stop,” I said politely—he was that big. One should always mind one’s manners around big things. “Or you’ll reach my brain soon, and I kind of need that.”

Why?
the crow said.
You certainly haven’t been using it.
He pecked me once more for good measure.
You gonna get up, Meat, or do I need to do that again?

“I’m up, I’m up.” I sat up and realized immediately that I wasn’t where I had been a minute ago. Well, I was in the clearing, but not at the same time, if that makes any sense. And guess who was sitting by a campfire?

The crow gave me one more solid peck on the knee before he took flight, perching on a rock next to the fire. I ambled over and joined them.

“You know this is, like, the worst time for you to come a-calling, don’t you? I appreciate the visit and all the interest you’ve taken in me lately, but being unconscious and in some crazy vision kind of leaves me open for attack.”

The goddess Bridget smiled at me and winked. “You’re perfectly fine. He’s in no state to be doing anything to you right now.”

“What about everyone else?” I asked, thinking of what had happened the last time I was here. Had a bunch of zombies sprouted up and started attacking everyone now that I was unconscious?

“They’re fine. Nick is holding the circle up.”

“Really?” I sat down next to the fire.

“Really.”

“Why am I here?” I asked. “I didn’t try to raise Brannoc this time, so while I’m delighted to see you, I’m also a little confused.”

The flower behind her ear came into full bloom as she considered me. “You have done a fine job, Sam.” She smiled when I gave her a skeptical look. “Believe it or not, you have. The blast you just suffered, however, could have tipped the scales rather poorly, and so I chose to interfere a little. I suppose we all cheat when it comes to our champions.”

“What, are you going to give me some amazing power to help me defeat Douglas? Like maybe the ability to shoot lightning from my fingers or something?”

The crow pecked me hard for my insolence, but Bridget was holding her sides as peals of laughter escaped from her.

“Oh,” she said, wiping her eyes, “I do enjoy you, Samhain. No, I can’t give you any special gift, and it would hurt a great deal to shoot anything from your fingers.”

I squelched the desire to shake her and ask her why she bothered to bring me here, then. It isn’t nice to assault a goddess. My mom brought me up better than that. Say please, thank you, and be nice to all deities. Can’t say my mother didn’t want us to be prepared.

“What I can give you is a quiet place to think, if only for a moment, where you aren’t distracted by the impending possible destruction of yourself or others.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Never underestimate the power of a quiet moment. They are few and far between, these days.” Bridget, who had picked up a stick to poke the fire, dropped it and took my hands in hers. Later, I might freak out about this fact, as it wasn’t every day I got to hold hands with a deity, but in the pocket of night we found ourselves in, I felt nothing but calm and reassurance.

“You need to think about how this is going to end, Sam.”

“Douglas will most likely gut me and turn my carcass into a new double-breasted suit,” I said. “And then he’ll probably destroy everyone I love.” My chest seized up at the thought. “I hope he doesn’t make us all into suits, because then he’ll need to get a bigger closet.”

She gave my hands a little shake. “Is that what you want to happen?”

I blinked at her. “Are you kidding? Who on earth would want that to happen besides Douglas? Of course I don’t want to be made into fashion wear, but I got lucky the first time, and we all know it. I don’t think he’s going to give me that chance again. This is Douglas’s game, and he’s going to win it.” I stared up at the sky in frustration. “I’m just going to keep losing people.” The stars looked weird, wherever we were. They kept spinning wildly, like someone was speeding up the universe. “All this death … it’s exhausting and I’m tired of it. And yes, I am fully aware of the irony in that statement.”

I tore my eyes from the whirling heavens and looked back down at my hands. They were dirty and bloodstained, with bits of orange sand sticking here and there. Hers were pale, the fingers long, with thin half-moons in her nails.

She let go of my hands and pushed my chin up with one fingertip, like it was a bird set to perch. There was a sad understanding in her eyes. She leaned in and kissed me, right between the eyes. By the time she leaned back, she looked happier. “You are what you are, Sam. But that doesn’t mean you have to play the same as Douglas. If you don’t like the game, change the rules.” She searched my face. “Do you understand?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

Despite my answer, she seemed satisfied. Bridget turned toward the giant bird. “Thank you, Crow. I would appreciate it if you would help him back. He seems to have problems when I do it.”

“Wait.” I grabbed her hand. “Am I going to get sick like last time?”

“No,” she said, placing her other hand on top of mine. “That was my error. I was treating you like your father’s son, and forgetting you’re also your mother’s. Big mistake, that. If I’d been thinking, I would never have put my mantle on you.” A little pat from her hand on mine and then, “Crow?”

The crow let out a caw and grabbed the back of my T-shirt with his beak. He yanked hard and—

*   *   *

I found myself in the circle. I was on my back, where I had apparently landed after the blast. From the feel of it and the way I was lying, I had bounced off the circle and was now crumpled on the ground. The crow was with me, and he was jabbing me quite painfully with his beak again.

Get up, Meat.

“You could at least be polite,” I croaked.

Fine. Get up, Meat, please.

He hopped to the side as I pushed myself into a sitting position. I must have been out for a few minutes, because the scene had devolved. Ashley was pounding on the side of the protective circle. The pack was a roiling mess. Ramon was wrestling with a big were, both of them starting to shift as they hit the ground. Brid had her back to the circle, and her swords were out. She held them at her sides and screamed at her pack, trying to keep them at bay, trying to restore order. Bran stood next to her, smacking down a few of the pups who weren’t listening.

Nick stood with them, his face toward me, his eyes closed. He was struggling to keep the circle up. All that magic inside, all those things trying to break in. Couldn’t have been easy. The gnomes, Haley, and Frank were surrounding him, protecting him. Frank looked like he was about to wet his pants.

Brooke stood with Frank, a determined expression on her face. Only Taco, who was now chewing happily on the remnants of the jade egg, looked pleased.

The pack was a mess. It was like a bar brawl without the bar. Some were changing in the grass, others were shouting or trying desperately not to change. Fists were flying, and as I watched, someone was thrown into the side of the dome.

Then James’s face caught my eye. Mostly because you usually had no idea what he was feeling. He was master of the blank face. Not this time. His hands were clenching and unclenching like he wanted to do something, but couldn’t, and his face was completely conflicted. He looked like a lost little boy.

I hadn’t known James for long, but in that time, I’d never seen him at a loss. He always knew what to do. His pained face swiveled back and forth between Douglas and me, and for the first time, I understood exactly what was going on in James’s head.

When Haley and I were kids, we’d done some dogsitting for one of my mom’s friends. The dog, an amiable golden retriever named Wallaby, had caused some friction between my sister and me because we were both convinced that we were Wallaby’s favorite. After arguing off and on for days, we’d both gone to opposite sides of the room and called the dog to see who he’d go to. We needed an answer. That was my first lesson in the folly of making someone—whether animal or human—choose between you and somebody else. It never seems to play out the way you hoped. After a few minutes of us calling and offering treats, Wallaby hadn’t budged. His head swiveled between us, unsure what was going on, but enjoying the attention. Finally he got tired of the game and went bounding off after a squirrel that happened to scuttle past. The squirrel hadn’t been playing, but he’d won the game.

That’s what happens when you force someone to choose. Maybe they pick option A, maybe they pick option B, but most will go for a third option that isn’t asking them to pick favorites in the first place.

James reminded me of Wallaby just then. Torn between two sides of his life. I might hate Douglas with a fiery passion, but James … well, an image of that serious child by Douglas’s side came to mind. I didn’t really know where James was before, but he’d been pretty young when Douglas got ahold of him, of that I was certain. And when you’re little, parents are almost godlike. Even if you end up with a mom, dad, or guardian straight out of a dysfunctional pantheon, you’ll stick by them, because they are your whole world. They’re all you know, and the idea of having empty space where they used to be, of having that horrible vacuum in your life, is unthinkable. Like it or not, for James, Douglas was family.

I looked over at Douglas, who was on his knees at the other side of the circle. He was sweating profusely and obviously out of it. I was pretty sure I could end it now. He certainly looked corporeal now—the beads of sweat and dazed look gave evidence of that—but then again, he’d appeared corporeal before. Still, in his state, he probably wouldn’t even know what hit him. A few steps and a jab from my athame, and maybe this would all be over. Except for the nightmares and the self-recrimination I’d gain from killing someone who couldn’t fight back.

I glanced at James, and I could see he understood. The panicked look of fear might have been comical if it hadn’t been so damn sad. He said something then, and though I couldn’t hear him, I knew exactly what it was.
Sam, please. Please.

Not Master. Sam. Come to think of it, he’d been dropping the “Master” a lot lately. Maybe that was because he felt his real master was Douglas, but I didn’t think so. And maybe I was a fool, but I wanted to believe—I needed to believe—that James had started to see us all as friends. As family.

Family. I knew then, with a strange certainty, that it was James who’d threatened Haley. James had put that knife in Haley’s door. Douglas would’ve killed her, but James wouldn’t. I remembered what he’d said to my mom about the wards—that they’d been set for someone who wanted to do harm. Whatever his orders had been, he hadn’t wanted to hurt Haley. When I’d sent him to check their security, he’d mentioned the fireplace—easy access for a schnauzer-sized dragon—and had my mom change them so even he couldn’t get in again. Maybe he’d been lying to everyone, and perhaps his alliances weren’t set, but despite everything that had happened, I was absolutely dead certain that I hadn’t been wrong about James. I hadn’t made a mistake.

I thought about what Bridget had said to me.
Change the rules.

I waggled the athame at James, then stabbed it into the ground all the way up to the hilt. The look on his face now was priceless. I winked at him. Then I walked over to Douglas.

Ashley was screaming now, shouting something, probably what on earth was I doing, but I ignored her. Minutes passed. The yelling and pounding continued, I’m sure, but I stopped hearing it. And slowly, Douglas came back to himself.

He looked up at me. I’d never seen Douglas look bewildered. Strike that—I’d never seen him look even vaguely human. But as he glanced around, quickly assessing everything, that’s how he appeared. Confused and very, very human. Especially when his eyes, those cold, creepy brown eyes, settled on me.

He moved like a viper, and suddenly, I was held up against the side of the dome, Douglas’s hand around my throat, the sweat on his forehead visible while I felt him slowly squeeze.

“I don’t understand,” he said, slamming me against the dome. “I don’t like things I don’t understand.” He threw me onto the ground, disgusted.

“Few people do,” I choked.

“You could have killed me.”

It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.”

He digested that. It simply did not compute for him. “I don’t understand,” he said again.

“I don’t want to play. You want to try and kill me? Fine. Go ahead. But I refuse to make murder my first answer for things. I’m tired of watching people die. You want to rumble, we’ll rumble, but I’m not going to slit the throat of an unconscious man. Especially not in front of the only family he has.”