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“That would explain a lot,” Morio said. “Shades are often self-appointed guardians. Whether it be of a place, an object, or a person doesn’t really matter. If he did possess the spirit seal, he might have grasped the scope of its power—even if he didn’t know exactly what it was—and knew that it needed guarding.”
“What about the wights?” I asked. “How do they play into the picture, assuming that you and Menolly are correct?”
“Wights can be summoned by shades,” Smoky interjected. “They can be brought forth from the Netherworld.”
Morio stopped, holding up his hand. “Let’s discuss this before we get in there. Wights can also be created by a shaman or necromancer who has the power to raise the dead. Could be that when he was alive, the shade had the power to restore life to the dead. Wights are better watchdogs than zombies, and harder to create, so if our spirit did invoke them, then we’d better be prepared for one hell of a showdown.”
A nagging thought occurred to me, one I didn’t really want to think about. “What if the shade still has the power to summon up wights? What if the shade is still a necromancer? Do magical powers just disappear when you die?” Even with my sister being a witch, I wasn’t all that clear on the ins and outs of life in the Spell Zone.
Camille frowned. “That seldom happens. Sometimes when the spirit reincarnates, the magical abilities will come through, especially if they were innate to the soul. When that happens, it can be obvious or latent.”
“But is it possible? Theoretically?” I wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to me, but I was learning more and more to trust my own instincts. Camille trusted hers, and I was trying to emulate her. Menolly swore up and down that she didn’t have any, but I was pretty sure she did. She just didn’t know it yet.
Morio spoke up. “Theoretically, yes, it can happen. Although Camille’s right; it’s a rare occurrence. But yes, we could be facing just such a situation, and if we are, we’re in shit-deep trouble, because if he can summon up wights, he can wipe the floor with us.”
“Not a happy thought.” Menolly glanced at me. “Kitten, I hope you’re wrong but, considering the amount of viro-mortis on the walls of this whole cave system, you might be right.”
My stomach lurched. Maybe we’d luck out, and I’d been meowing up the wrong tree. Because if we had to face a necromantic shade, we were—as Morio said—in shit-deep trouble.
Morio paused, looking at Camille. She nodded, and he let out a long sigh. “Okay, here’s the deal. Let Camille and me go in first. We’ll cast our spell the minute we enter the chamber, then jump to the side, and the rest of you can take over. Whatever happens to the wights won’t affect you—unless there’s one hellacious backlash, and then we’re all doomed.” He motioned to Camille. “We need to prepare, and quick.”
She slipped over to his side, taking his hands in hers as they closed their eyes and began a low chant under their breaths. The rest of us crowded back in the passage, giving them room while trying to avoid the rock walls hemming us in. Camille was more accurate with her death magic than her moon magic, but I was still nervous. The thought of a necromantic spell backfiring was more than I wanted to wrangle with.
As the energy between them built, goose bumps appeared on my arms. My first inclination was to turn and run. This was dark magic, darker than I’d ever felt coming from Camille except when she had sent Geph von Spynne into a tailspin with a death spell. But he’d been attacking us at that point. He’d already killed Rhonda, Zachary’s ex-fiancée, and we were next on his list. This—this was a calculated maneuver. I moved closer to Zach, who slid his arm around me.
It was a comforting gesture, and I leaned into his embrace, feeling his warmth soak through my jacket. I could sense his arousal, though I doubted even he felt it yet. And his desire sparked my own. I wasn’t about to start anything in midbattle, but it made sense. Passion and adrenaline run hand in hand. Especially since we’d been through so many life-threatening situations in the past few months.
I pressed against him, and he tightened his embrace, then glanced into my eyes as I slid my hand around and planted it on his butt. He was asking me a question with those golden topaz eyes of his, and I nodded gently, pursing my lips as I flicked my tongue over my fangs. Zach sucked in a deep breath, and his hand slid down from my waist to caress my ass. As my breath caught in my throat, Camille looked up.
“We’re ready,” she said, and her voice drifted in from a million miles away.
I let go of Zach but squeezed his hand as I stepped away from him.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Smoky said. “Camille, Morio, head in. Delilah, you, Zach, Roz, and Menolly go next. Vanzir, you and I will take the third wave. That will give the fox and our wife time to regain their wits before they fall in behind us.”
Without another word, Camille and Morio rushed into the entrance of the cavern, their voices low and haunting in the echo of the tunnel. Their magical chant was rife with passion and pain, and the faint sound of drums echoed on the air currents susurrating through the chamber.
My body hummed in response to the magic. Not prepared for the sudden resonance, I almost fell against the wall but managed to steady myself before I touched the slime molds. My vision ran red, and I pushed to the front, my fear vanishing in the growing cloud of bloodlust. Panther was rising; I could feel her growl deep within my heart, aching to be set free.
Hi’ran. This was his realm, the realm of death and fire and spirits. The Autumn Lord played in this world, and I—his only living Death Maiden—couldn’t help but respond to the call of dark shrouds rising from the grave. I had to face the fact that I was as much a part of the shadow as Camille was becoming, and as Menolly had become the day Dredge got hold of her.
I motioned for Zach, Roz, and Menolly to move aside as the world began to shift. At first, I thought I was going to shift as my body wavered between worlds. Panther to woman to Panther again, with the mark on my forehead swirling. I felt like I’d just slammed back a handful of speed or had some form of Haste spell cast on me. And then, I was just me, but with Panther fully taking control of my senses.
Racing through the door, I caught sight of the wights. Dark, squat creatures that had once been human, they were leathery, with hair grown wild that covered part of their bodies, like mummies dumped in a fur factory. The lot of them turned as I entered the chamber. Moving like apes, they crouched their way toward us, arms swinging, using their knuckles to propel themselves along, eyes glimmering with the flame of death.
They weren’t right; they shouldn’t be here. They belonged to the realm of the dead, not in the realm of the living. I yanked my dagger free of its sheath, hungry for their blood, hungry to send them back to the grave. I plunged the tip of my blade into a shoulder as the nearest wight clasped my arm with its icy hand. Leaning over, I bit deep, driving my fangs into the flesh, and the wight let go with a screech. As I spat out the blood and fur, it started to back away.
A low roar worked its way up and out of my throat as I leapt and spun, my booted foot catching the creature on the jaw. My kick sent it sailing to the ground. Without a thought, I jumped to its side, driving my heel down on its throat, crushing the larynx as it fought to catch my ankle. Again I kicked, this time catching it in the ribs, sending the wight rolling toward Menolly, who snatched up the creature and smashed it against the rock wall until it fell limp in her arms. She tossed it aside and turned to the next.
The wights swarmed us like bees protecting their queen. I focused on my own little spot in the cave. Again and again, my dagger tasted flesh. Again and again, I kicked and punched my way through the wall of living death. There seemed to be no end to the blood and the stench that rose from the creatures.
As my sixth enemy fell, I watched in fascinated horror as the flesh began to slide away from the bones. No longer held together by magic, it oozed into a primordial soup, a slurry of DNA and blood. Wanting to vomit but still unable to look away, I was too slow. Another wight had crept up behind me, and before I realized what was happening, he fastened his teeth in my ankle and a mind-numbing pain set in as he drove through the boot to the bone.
I screamed, kicking to shake him off, but he held fast. He was determined to bite out a huge chunk of my leg. It occurred to me that I was a lot bigger than he was, so I dropped to my knees, directly atop him, effectively trapping him. With a short squeal, the creature let go, and I tucked and rolled, coming to my feet a few yards away from the wight. He lurched toward me, but Camille was right behind him. Her dagger raised, she plunged it through his back and jumped away as he fell.
“Always playing big sister to the rescue!” I teased as she whirled to engage yet another wight headed her way.
“You know it!” I heard her call back. But another member of the living-dead brigade was on my tail, and I turned to engage, caught up in the battle again. The air hung thick with the smell of blood and carrion as sounds of screaming and the clash of blade on flesh echoed through the chamber.
