Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us (5 page)

The two women had left, leaving him alone with the old man, who was still staring intently at the knife handle protruding from the cabinet. “Physical magic,” McGowan said. “There’s no other word for it, and nobody does that.” He looked at Paul. “At least not until you came along.”

Paul asked, “I almost killed her, huh?”

“No, not really. You scared the shit out of Colleen and she overreacted a bit. You’d have to pull a lot more heat out of Katherine than that to kill her.”

McGowan continued to stare at the knife handle. “You told me that when Alexei tried to shove your hand in that food processor and you pulled energy out of him, you didn’t feel anything. Right?”

“Ya.”

“No sensation of increased strength or power flowing into you or anything like that?”

“Ya, that’s what I said.” Paul had told McGowan he’d gained almost superhuman strength when he’d pulled power out of the demon, but he’d gotten nothing from the Russian. And they’d agreed it was best not spread that information around.

“I’m guessing what you just did here was similar to what you did to Alexei. Doesn’t sound like you pulled heat out of him, but maybe it was some sort of physical energy.”

McGowan looked away from the knife, looked at Paul and shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

~~~

Katherine felt a lot better, still a little weak in the knees, but only slightly. Colleen insisted on walking her to her car.

As Katherine fumbled for her keys the sensation of being watched came back to her. But before she could react, Colleen hissed, almost growled, and marched over to a car parked about twenty feet away. She put both hands on her hips and spoke to a shadow in the lee of the car. “Show yourself, little man.”

The shadow shimmered for a second, then Jim’Jiminie appeared, a little man about knee-high. He wore green leggings, a brown doublet, purple shirt, with a floppy red hat perched jauntily on his head. He leaned casually against the car’s tire. “Now sure, sweet darlin’,” he said. “I’m just a simple fellow standin’ on the street, mindin’ me own business.”

Colleen’s accent grew quite thick. “And I’m a pink unicorn, you little madman. Do you really want to be playing your games with me, little man?”

The little man shrugged. “I can smell him all over her.” He nodded toward Katherine. “And if such as me can sense it, do you really believe the Sidhe of the royal blood will be fooled?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Again he shrugged. “Not all fey are enamored of the Summer and Winter Courts, mortal. It would not be in our best interest to see him bound to either Seelie or Unseelie. For try to bind him they will, even if they have to use her to do so. And with that, I bid you adieu, fair lady.” He doffed his hat, bowed from the waist, and disappeared in a sparkle of fairy dust.

~~~

Cadilus rarely suffered from apprehension or doubt. Given any situation he could invariably determine the correct course of action. And yet now, standing on a pristine, gravel-strewn path in the Garden of Sorrows, the ramparts of the seat of the Seelie Court rising high above him, he felt like the lowliest of peasants.

“You have chosen an ally?” Magreth asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty . . . an . . . ally.”

“You hesitate. How unlike you. Do you doubt him?”

“She, Your Majesty. The ally is of the fairer sex.”

Magreth turned to face him. “Do you mock me?”

Cadilus lowered his eyes. “No, Your Majesty. Never. I have asked Sabreatha to join us.”

Magreth hissed, a sharp intake of breath. The shadows of the ancient Sidhe spirits appeared, dancing about her head and shoulders. “An ally of dubious distinction. And you believe that’s wise?”

“There is no wise course of action, Your Majesty, not with a necromancer active on the Mortal Plane. But I do believe I have taken an expedient course of action. Though, I must admit, a dangerous one.”

She stood still and lifeless for an eternity, staring at him, judging him. Her eyes didn’t blink, her breast didn’t rise and fall with the breath of the living. And then slowly she nodded once, an almost imperceptible tilt of her head. “Very well. Summon her forth.”

Cadilus did so with a thought. Nothing happened for a moment, or two, or three. Then a shadow flitted above the ramparts high above, and an angry shriek echoed across the garden, something akin to the sharp cry of a hunting hawk. The shadow flittered in and out of existence at different places among the embrasures and merlons of the parapets, like a wary predator sniffing carefully at prey, fearful that a larger and more dangerous predator might be lying in wait. Another shriek echoed through the garden, the shadow disappeared, then, an instant later, reappeared among the shadows of a large oak in the far corner of the garden.

The figure hesitated in the shadows there for several seconds, clearly surveying her surroundings. Then she stepped carefully out into the light of Faerie, and even Cadilus, one of the most powerful mages of the Seelie Court, and here on his home ground, even he had difficulty penetrating the magic of this most-wild of
black fey
. He had the impression of a tall humanoid shape walking toward them, but obscured by untamed shadows that fluttered like a flame struggling in a harsh breeze.

The tall shape stopped before Magreth at a warily safe distance and faced her squarely. The flames appeared in Magreth’s eyes and danced there angrily as she stared at the wild magic before her. After several seconds she said, “You come before me, an invited guest, granted my parole and protection while here . . . and you show not the least modicum of common courtesy?”

Sabreatha, with her shadows that never stilled, remained motionless for several seconds. Then again the shriek of some wild predator echoed through the garden, and slowly she lowered herself to one knee. She bowed her head, and the shadows fluttering about her dissipated. It was a slow process, as if it took a strong effort of will to banish the darkness that enveloped her. One by one her features became more defined and distinct, though the shadows didn’t disappear completely, for there was always a hint of them fluttering about her. But now, before Magreth, knelt a woman dressed in tight gray leathers, a long-sword strapped to her side, an unstrung long-bow in her left hand. She had pale, golden hair, twisted into dreadlocks that, with her head bowed, hung past her face and obscured it.

“That’s better,” Magreth said. “You may rise.”

In the blink of an eye Sabreatha had risen and stood proudly, stood over them both for she was easily a hand-span taller than Cadilus, and he was not a small man. Her eyes shifted color continuously, blue, brown, hazel, amber, black, every color imaginable, and her dreadlocks fluttered slightly as if touched by a light breeze, though Cadilus noted the air was still. She opened her mouth, hesitated as if she found it difficult to speak an ordinary tongue. And when her lips moved, her voice was no more than a haunted whisper on the wind. “You asked and I have come.”

It was an overt reminder that she was here at their request, and too, that it was up to them to state the purpose of this meeting.

Cadilus said, “We have a commission for you.”

The whisper of her words brushed across his senses. “And what kind of commission would that be?”

Magreth said haughtily, “For what kind of commission do you think we would summon one such as you.”

Sabreatha’s lips parted in something akin to a smile, but not a smile. She was quite beautiful in a strangely haunted way. “One such as me. An interesting turn of phrase.”

Magreth clearly did not like the tone of this meeting. “You are what you are, and we may desire your services.”

“I am what I am . . . and I am all that I am not.”

“You know what we need. This necromancer, he is dangerous if not controlled properly.”

Sabreatha stared at them for a long moment before speaking. “And what would you have me do.”

Magreth swept a hand out dismissively. “I leave that up to you.”

Again, a long pause filled with silence. “Perhaps
les flèche du coeur
.”

Cadilus flinched, and Magreth said, “An extreme solution. But, nevertheless, a solution.”

Sabreatha nodded her ascent. “I will deliver
les flèche du coeur
. And payment?”

“What do you desire?”

Now Sabreatha did smile. “Parole to walk the domains of the Seelie Court.”

Magreth shook her head. “Never.”

Cadilus intervened. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, if we placed the proper restrictions on such parole . . . you might find it acceptable.”

Magreth considered that for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we may be able to come to an accommodation here.”

~~~

He pulled his car into the parking lot of the strip mall across the street from the bus stop. He had crafted a spell to hide the car from any watchful eye, a difficult spell he’d reinforced over a period of several months. It turned the eye subtly, made the watcher want to look elsewhere, and drew their interest away from the vehicle and its driver. But it was always wise to be cautious, so he found a parking place near other cars, but with empty slots next to it. It wouldn’t do to park way at the edge of the lot where all the stalls were empty. A lone car would stand out, and someone might take notice, if they could resist the pull of the spell.

He killed the engine, rolled down a window, opened a newspaper and pretended to read, as if waiting for someone. He’d carefully chosen the position of the car so he could look past the edge of the paper at the bus stop.

It was late afternoon and the little Mexican girl’s bus should be along shortly. He actually read a bit of the newspaper while he waited. But when the school bus appeared up the street it had his full attention.

The bus stopped at the corner, flared out a stop sign on its side and traffic going both ways came to a halt. A half-dozen kids scampered off the bus, some met by their parents, some not. No one met the little Mexican girl, but as she walked up the sidewalk the little Mexican boy accompanied her, the same boy she’d spoken with the other day. Today she wore a colorful dress that flared out at the waist and ended at knee height, and her hair was in ponytails. Lovely!

She looked at the boy coyly and giggled. It was too far to be certain, but he probably blushed a little as he smiled at her. As they walked she swung a knapsack back and forth carelessly, and danced around him a bit while he marched slowly forward. She never took her eyes off him, clearly wanted his approval, wanted his attention.

She’s paying too much attention to this boy,
the voice said.
Way too much attention.

“Yes, she is. He can’t have her. She’s ours.”

We may have to do something about him.

“Yes, we may have to.”

Chapter 3: An Old Story

Paul had never been inside Katherine’s practice. He’d briefly stalked her outside her offices, trying to make contact after his first misadventures with the Russians and the big hoodoo demon in the Netherworld.

Katherine had furnished her reception area with comfortable chairs and a couch, side tables with stacks of magazines neatly arranged, like almost any doctor’s office anywhere. Behind a large desk sat a middle-aged woman, attractive, well dressed, light brown hair cut just above her shoulders.

Paul said, “I’m Paul Conklin.”

She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Conklin. Dr. McGowan’s expecting you, so go on in.”

Old man McGowan had arranged for Katherine to give Paul his first lesson in protective circles, said she was quite good at it. Paul opened the door to Katherine’s office and stepped in. Seated behind her desk she looked up at him and frowned slightly, not a terribly welcome expression. “Give me a moment, Conklin.”

She scribbled a signature on something, flipped the page aside, scribbled something on another page, put down her pen and looked at him. “Thanks for being patient, the rest can wait. I’m to teach you about circles, huh?”

Paul shrugged. “Teach away. I’m a willing pupil.”

Today she wore a gray business suit, coat and slacks, with a pale blue blouse, one of those blouses ever so slightly translucent so that one could just barely make out the silhouette of the black bra and something else lacy beneath it. She did an awfully good job of making something sexy out of the most conservative business attire.

She stood, came around from behind the desk, headed for a door in the side of her office. “Let’s go to my workshop.”

He followed her, tried not to admire the way the slacks gave a nice view of her shape. She led him into a room with a hardwood floor, a small, wooden workbench against one wall with a couple of stools, and next to it a locked storage cabinet. Against another wall were a comfortable couch and a couple of chairs, with the center of the room clear and open. Katherine approached the storage cabinet, pulled some keys out of her pocket, fumbled at the lock for a moment, then opened the doors wide. In it, Paul saw shelves filled with bottles, jars, packages, all sorts of things that meant nothing to him. She pulled out a blue, cylindrical canister.

“Salt?” Paul asked.

“Yes,” she said, kicking off her high-heels. She walked to the center of the room, opened the tap on the canister of salt, poured a line of it in a circle about three feet in diameter. “As I told you it makes for a great circle. Now, step over the line of salt and into the circle.”

He did as told. She sat down on the floor just outside the circle, crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and he saw them squint as she concentrated. He also felt the unmistakable sensation of someone drawing power, a perception he’d only recently come to understand. She sat that way for about a minute, then suddenly opened her eyes and blurted out, “Motherfucker.”

“Motherfucker?” Paul asked her.

She blushed. “Long story,” she said. But when he raised a sardonic eyebrow she added, “But I can see you’re not going to let me get away without telling it.”

He didn’t say anything, just grinned and nodded.

“Ok,” she said. “You see, it’s easiest to initiate certain kinds of spells if you associate a specific and unique word with the moment of setting the spell. It can be any word you choose, but after you’ve done it enough times, a trigger word makes it easier to focus your power.”