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Chapter 9
“What the fuck?” I leaped up as a trowel—the kind used to apply putty—went flying past me. If I hadn’t jumped out of the way, it would have sliced into my forehead. Not fatal for me, but it would definitely have put a dent in my skull.
Camille pointed. “There!”
As we turned, a dark cloud began to creep across the ceiling, a roiling black mist, churning and growing as it seeped out from beneath the moldings. Abby and Fritz stumbled back, terrified.
“Oh God, no, no…please, no…” Abby whispered under her breath as the cloud began to lower into the room, taking form.
Camille shoved her toward the door. “Run. You and Fritz get the hell out of here.”
They stumbled toward the arch, but Abby screamed again. I whirled to see another cloud of mist entering the room. They backed up, Abby whimpering as Fritz grabbed her and pushed her behind him.
Chase was near them and he caught hold of Abby’s arm and shoved her behind him, with her back to the wall. I was headed their way but stopped short. Rivulets of blood raced down the wall, thin fingers coming from nowhere. I could smell it—coppery and sweet and yet…there was something off-putting about it.
“Chase—Abby, get away from there.” I motioned them away. They turned to see the crimson rivers flowing behind them. Abby stumbled forward; she’d almost backed into it.
“What the fuck is going on?” Chase’s voice was hoarse.
Camille and Morio joined hands and, heads down, they whispered something under their breaths. I could hear the chanting—ancient and hollow. As they raised their heads, their eyes were shining with silver and purple light, and Morio let out a low laugh.
The black shroud of mist circled the room now, and out of it, a large male form began to take shape. I backed up as he came striding out of the cloud, all smoke and mist, with eyes that burned a vicious green. He was evil. I knew evil—on an intimate level because I battled with it daily. And this creature—this spirit—was evil to the core.
Chase tried to shield both Fritz and Abby. The blood pouring down the walls was thick and viscous, but it didn’t set me to hunger, as the scent of blood usually did. Instead, it revolted me, turning my stomach.
Camille and Morio intercepted the figure striding toward us, hand in hand, like some baleful Jack and Jill. The look on their faces was as frightening as our opponent. Camille raised her left hand, palm out, and Morio his right.
From night to night, from dusk till dawn,
From darkened shadow you have spawned.
From what you are to what you once were,
Let truth shine forth from under blur.
Let illusion crack, let lies dispel,
As your magic we bespell.
As they incanted their spell, their voices echoed through the room and the spirit roared. A gust of wind raced through, fighting against the mist, trying to drive it away.
But the shadow was strong and fought back, a coiling serpent ready to strike. The spirit laughed again, but there was an edge to the laughter—tempered with a faint hint of fear. As the tension increased, a noise like a whistling of metal against air startled me. I turned in time to see a screwdriver spinning through the air, aimed at Camille’s heart.
She didn’t see it, so rapt was she in the magic, and neither did Morio.
I screamed and launched myself, flipping head over heels to land in the path of the screwdriver. It struck me in the shoulder, driving me forward as I careened into Camille and Morio. Camille shrieked as they broke the spell and fell backward. I yanked the screwdriver out of my shoulder, a slow burble of blood following. Vampires bleed very slowly, if they’ve not been hit in the heart and dusted, and my wound hurt like hell but started to close immediately. I whirled, turning on the spirit that was still bearing down.
Their spell might be broken, but the results held. Now we could see the spirit in his entirety. He was male, about fifty, wearing a top hat and tails and a pair of dress trousers. His hair was shoulder length and straggly, and a leer on his face made me terribly nervous. I couldn’t figure out why, and then it hit me. He had the same cold avarice that Dredge had. This man…spirit…had been a sadist. He was a mean son of a bitch. And death had not changed his nature.
He didn’t stop but strode toward me. “Little girl. You’re going to die.” His voice was the voice of a hundred empty husks blowing on the wind. As his eyes lit up with delight, he reached out his hand toward me and a jolt ran through me, picking me up to send me sailing across the room.
I slammed against the bloody wall near Chase and the Liebmans. As I slid to the ground, I quickly ran my hand through the blood and brought it to my lips, tasting just a single drop, but not swallowing it.
“That’s not blood! I don’t know what it is, but it’s not blood.” I eyed the spirit, wondering how the hell to engage him. He hadn’t hit me with anything physical, and I wasn’t sure I could attack him.
Camille and Morio were back on their feet, and they clasped hands once again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. They were up to something and all I could think was, Get the fuck out of Dodge. I backed out of the way as they headed toward the spirit, heads down, gazes locked.
The spirit ignored me and went for them.
