Chaos Bites Page 16

  He glanced at the coyote in the trees, and his face softened. “For now.”

  Left unspoken were the words, As long as she lives.

  I swallowed against a sudden thickness in my throat. Love hurt.

  Leaning forward, Sani placed his hand against the new grass. His outline shimmered and in a flash, he was a coyote again. His mate bounded out of the trees, jumping onto his back and then rolling onto hers, presenting her belly in perfect beta submission. She’d obviously never cared that he was different, that he wasn’t completely a coyote. True love never did.

  They began to run off. “Hey!” I whistled. “Buddy.”

  Sani stopped then nuzzled his mate, who disappeared into the trees, before trotting back.

  “Forget anything?” I asked. He tilted his head. I pointed at the rock where the fetish lay buried. “I paid, you talk.”

  For an instant I feared that giving Sani the icon had taken away his voice. But I guess once a talking coyote, always a talking coyote, because he spoke. “There is someone you must see, but it won’t be easy.”

  “Wow. Not easy,” I deadpanned. “That’s new.”

  He ignored me. I guess age does grant wisdom.

  “If you still want to bring Sawyer forth, only this man possesses the knowledge of how.”

  “Who is he, and where can I find him?”

  “You’ll find Mait in an old church near New Orleans.”

  New Orleans. The perfect place for someone who could raise a ghost.

  “How near New Orleans?”

  “Honey Island Swamp. Look for the crossroads.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No. But I doubt there are very many abandoned churches in the swamp at a crossroads.”

  “There better not be,” I muttered. “So this guy is a bokor?”

  “He came from Haiti ages ago, but he’s not a voodoo priest. He’s more of a magical bodyguard, named after Mait-Carrefour—the god of magicians. He’s a bringer of bad luck and the ruler of night demons.”

  “What is he?” I spread my hands. “A voodoo spirit? A god?”

  “I’m not sure. He protects things. He makes magic. I’ve heard he’s a necromancer as well.”

  I spread my hands wider.

  “A witch who can raise the dead, usually for purposes of divination. Sometimes with the entrails of the dearly departed.”

  I couldn’t wait to meet this guy.

  “How does he do all this?” I asked.

  “He uses a book of prophecy and magic.”

  I stilled. “What kind of book?”

  “Grimoire.”

  The Key of Solomon. Had something actually come easily?

  “In it are spells that reveal mysteries beyond the understanding of humans, along with hints of how to win the coming war between good and evil. They say it was dictated by a demon to his offspring here on earth. Mait keeps it near him at all times, and protects those secrets with his life.”

  A chill wind seemed to sweep across the mountain, though not a single gust stirred the trees.

  Not the Key of Solomon. The Book of Samyaza.

  “How do you know about this?” I asked.

  “I am not completely cut off from the world.”

  “Yet you didn’t know that Ruthie or Sawyer was dead.”

  “I haven’t exactly been in contact with those on the side of the light.”

  “Still, I’d think the forces of doom would be thrilled to inform you that we’d lost both our leader and a powerful ally.”

  Sani huffed breath through his nose. “I did know you’d lost your leader. When I was banished, however, Ruthie was but an underling.”

  Ruthie an underling? I couldn’t imagine it.

  I opened my mouth to ask about her past, about the previous leader of the light. Sani spoke instead. “And I have my doubts that Sawyer is dead, as well as whose side he’s actually on.”

  I had doubts about that, too.

  “Mait is protecting the grimoire,” Sani continued. “He has killed everyone who has tried to take it from him.”

  “You think it’s a good idea for me to visit a guy who keeps Satan’s handbook on his nightstand?”

  “I think that if you want to talk to Sawyer, you’ll have to. Besides—” Sani’s coyote shoulders rippled in a canine shrug. “—he can’t kill you.”

  Even if he could, it didn’t matter. I had to get my hands on that book—and not just to raise Sawyer. According to legend, whoever carried the Book of Samyaza was invincible.

  Which made me wonder why—if they had it—the Nephilim weren’t already marching across the earth, laying waste to cities, and munching on the citizenry like a never-ending human buffet. I guess I’d just have to go and find out.

  Sure, I was nervous. Not only was I going to meet with a half demon who’d been assigned by other half demons—or maybe a whole demon, who knew?—to protect what amounted to the Holy Grail of the Apocalypse, but I was being sent there by someone I trusted about as much as I’d once trusted Sawyer.

  Sawyer had walked the line between good and evil, but Sani? I thought he lived over there in the dark. Why else would Sawyer have banished him?

  Regardless of whether Sani was on our side or theirs, if the Book of Samyaza was in New Orleans and if it actually contained a spell to bring forth Sawyer’s ghost, I’d go there and I’d take it. Someone had to.

  In the distance, Sani’s mate called. Sani fidgeted, looking in that direction, then back at me, then into the trees again. I needed to ask my questions before he gave in to the call of the wild.

  “You’re telling me there’s a spell in the book that will raise a ghost?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I lost it. “Dammit, Sani! You just said—”

  “The time for raising ghosts is past, at least with Sawyer.”

  “Past?” My voice came out faint, like a lost little girl in the night.

  “Sawyer has climbed out of the afterworld with your help. Now you must raise him completely or let him wander forever between here and there. Your choice.”

  “Raise him completely,” I repeated. “As in . . .” My voice trailed off. I was more lost than ever.

  “The spell in the Book of Samyaza doesn’t raise ghosts,” Sani said. “The spell raises the dead back to life.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Silence settled over the mountain, broken only by the distant but insistent call of Sani’s mate.

  “You wanna run that by me again?” I asked.

  Sani blew out his breath in a huff. “If Sawyer was a ghost, he’d have come when you called, told you what he hadn’t, shown you what you needed to know, done whatever it was he had to do so that he could rest in peace. But he’s more than a ghost, just as he was more than a man.”

  “So this spell would make him a zombie? A vampire?”

  The coyote shook his head.

  “Revenant?” The human-like zombies my mother had raised. “Ghoul?” Raised by a witch or a demon to do an evil deed.

  “You aren’t listening. Sawyer would be alive again. Human.” The coyote cocked his head. “Or as human as he gets.”

  “That’s not—” I paused, unable to go on.

  “Possible?” Sani supplied.

  “Good,” I finished. “That’s not good.”

  “Isn’t getting Sawyer back what you wanted?”

  In my land of impossible dreams, sure. But I’d also known it wouldn’t happen. The most I’d hoped for was one more conversation. I’d ask Sawyer about Faith, his death, the Key of Solomon, his magic, he’d tell me everything, then he’d realize he was dead and go into the light, or the dark as the case may be. But to have him come back to life—

  “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to raise the dead,” I mused.

  As far as I knew, only those with more than a passing acquaintance with evil dragged people out of their graves.

  “Good idea or not, you’re going to need him,” Sani said, then disappeared into t
he trees.

  I returned the way I’d come, descending first the mountain, then the ridge, then driving past the owner’s house to let her know I hadn’t fallen in a gorge and broken my neck. I toyed with the idea of staying at the same motel I’d slept in last night and starting fresh in the morning, but I had a good long stretch of daylight left so I headed for the nearest large airport, which was in Cheyenne.

  I’d have to leave Summer’s car in long-term parking and probably pay a fortune to fly to New Orleans and rent another car, but I really couldn’t spare the time to drive the length of the Mississippi—as much fun as that might be.

  My hands weren’t steady; I solved that by clenching them so tightly on the wheel, they ached. Then I breathed in and out until the racing of my heart matched that purposeful cadence.

  There was a spell to make the dead come to life. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  My initial reaction—that it wasn’t a good idea—was probably correct. However, Sani had said I’d need Sawyer, and I’d learned over the past few months that when a sorcerer predicted something, he or she was usually right.

  I spent the four-plus-hour drive checking in by cell phone. As usual Megan made use of her caller ID to avoid one of her pet peeves, the word hello.

  “Where are you? What are you doing? How’s the baby?”

  “Wyoming. Driving and I don’t have a clue.”

  Silence came over the line as she no doubt decided which answer to comment on first.

  “Where’s Faith?”

  “With Jimmy, Summer, and Luther.”

  “And why don’t you know how she is?”

  “Because I was stupid enough to call you first.”

  “Liz,” she said, exasperated. “Moms check on their children before anyone else.”

  “I’m not her mom,” I said sharply, my stomach jittering and my chest tightening. I’d never had one of my own, had no idea how to be one to anyone else. Faith deserved better.

  “Just because you didn’t give birth to her doesn’t mean you can’t be a great mother,” Megan murmured. “What about Ruthie?”

  “I’m not Ruthie.” Something I continued to prove with annoying regularity.

  “The kid’s going to need at least one parent. You promised to take care of her, which means you’re it.”

  “What if her real mom shows up?” And turns out to be a bone-marrow-sucking troll.

  “You’ll deal with that when and if it happens.”

  “I guess so.” Note to self—look up how to kill bone-marrow-sucking trolls.

  Silence descended for several seconds, then Megan said softly, “I saw the way you looked at her, Liz. The way you held her.”

  “Like I was going to drop her?”

  An exasperated sigh whispered across the miles. “You know that bitchy, ass-kicking, demon-killing loner thing doesn’t fly with me, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. Because, yeah, I knew.

  “The baby was getting to you,” Megan continued. “You were falling for her. Just like you fell for Luther.”

  I swallowed, and the fear at the back of my throat tasted like ashes. Which is what Faith and Luther would be if the Nephilim found out that I cared.

  “You’re wrong,” I said.

  “Sure I am.”

  “So. Everything okay by you?” I asked.

  “Dandy,” she snapped. “Business is good. My kids are fine.”

  “How’s Quinn?”

  “Quinn? The bartender?”

  Among other things, I thought.

  “Yeah, him,” I said.

  “Good, I guess. He comes to work on time. Drops a lot, but he always pays for it.”

  Would Megan ever see any other man but Max? Should she? I didn’t know the answer to those questions any more than I knew the answer to a lot of others.

  “Why are you in Wyoming?” Megan continued.

  Not only was the reason too complicated to explain, but the less Megan knew about what I did and where I went the better.

  “Never mind,” she said when I hesitated. “Just be careful.”

  “Always am.”

  “No, you’re not,” she muttered, and hung up.

  My next call was to Luther. He answered on the second ring. “Where are you?” he asked.

  Faith cooed in the background. I could almost see her smiling. My chest tightened painfully. Love or a heart attack? They probably felt damn near the same.

  “Where are you?” I countered.

  “Summer’s place.”

  “Faith okay?”

  “You wanna talk to her?”

  “No, that’s—” I began, but he had already put the phone by her ear.

  “It’s Liz,” Luther said. “Can you say Liz?”

  “Ga!” Faith blasted in my ear drum.

  “Ouch!”

  “Ouch!” she screamed.

  “Shh.”

  “Shh! Shh! Shhh!”

  Hearing her voice made my chest loosen a little yet, oddly enough, hurt even more.

  Luther came back on the line. “She repeats everything.”

  “You don’t say?” I switched the phone from one ear to the other. “She’s advancing pretty quickly.” And now that I’d talked to Sani I knew why. Magic in the blood. Poor kid.

  “It’s lucky we’re living out near the rez where there aren’t too many people, not to mention the sparkly dust Summer uses to make us fade into the landscape. If anyone human saw Faith one day and then a few days later . . .” He trailed off.

  “I think homeschooling is in her future.”

  “If the world doesn’t end first. How we doin’ on that, by the way?”

  “Better and better. I have a lead on the Book of Samyaza.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Shut up!” Faith echoed with the exact same inflection.

  “Whoops,” Luther murmured. “You want me to get Sanducci?”

  “He’s still there?”

  “Yeah. Though he’s getting twitchy. He’s gonna have to go and kill something soon just for the hell of it.”

  “Summer?”

  “I don’t think he should kill her,” Luther said.

  “I do.”

  The kid had been being a smart-ass, but I couldn’t resist taking a shot at the fairy, even when she wasn’t around.

  “He doesn’t let her out of his sight,” Luther muttered.

  “Good.” She couldn’t be trusted. So why did the news that Jimmy was keeping both eyes on her annoy the crap out of me?

  “You want to tell him about the Book of Samyaza?” Luther asked.

  “No. And don’t you tell him, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure it’s true. I’ll check it out and get back to you. Until then, keep your lip zipped. I don’t need any help. You hear me?”

  “I don’t know how I could avoid hearing you when you’re shouting in my ear.”

  “Do not tell Sanducci about the book or even that I called. Do not tell him where I’m going.”

  “I don’t know where you’re going,” Luther muttered.

  “Thatta boy,” I said, and ended the call.

  Sanducci would be on board with getting the book. What he would not be on board with was the possibility of raising Sawyer back to life. Since I might have to do just that, I’d leave Sanducci out of it.

  I had a short jump to Minneapolis, where I picked up a direct flight. Once I’d strapped myself into my window seat and nodded to my neighbors, who’d brought books and appeared ready to use them, I checked out for most of the trip. I had a doozy of a dream.

  I’m in a city I don’t recognize, wandering among empty buildings. The only light comes from the moon, which is big and bright and full. The street is broken and torn, with large chunks of pavement and cobblestones tossed into piles, as if there’s been an earthquake, or perhaps a monster sprung from the deep.

  The buildings are made of stone, too, and they appear ancient, which narrows things down. Ther
e aren’t a whole lot of ancient cities in America, and the ones there are—those built into the hills by the Anasazi, or the Pueblo’s Mesa Verde, even Santa Fe—do not look like this. The architecture reminds me of photos I’ve seen of Savannah or St. Augustine; although I’ve never been to either of them, I can’t believe they’ve ever been this deserted. If the Nephilim have their way, however, every city might become quite similar in the future.

  The night is cool, but not cold, so either summer anywhere, or anytime in the South. I wear what I always wear—jeans and a knife, tank top and a gun, tennis shoes and silver bullets.

  Strangely, I’m not hiding. Instead I walk right down the center of the street, letting the keen silver light of the moon flow over me like gilded rain.

  “You wanted me,” I shout. “Here I am.”

  No one answers. I turn in a slow, wary circle, gaze touching on each building, the windows, the roof, the doors. Who, or what, am I searching for?

  “Let her go,” I order.

  Laughter slithers through the air like a slug, leaving a damp and oily trail behind. Gooseflesh rises on my arms, and I shift my shoulders as the invisible bull’s-eye pulses between them.

  The rasp of my knife leaving the sheath thunders through the eerie silence. “We had a deal.”

  The laughter comes again, bringing to mind a cartoon red devil with a spiky black goatee and curling horns.

  “Me for her,” I say, though my voice is weaker. I’m starting to see what I’ve known all along—deals with the devil aren’t deals at all.

  A door creaks open a few yards ahead of me. A shadow moves inside. A thin white hand slides through the opening and beckons.

  I swallow, my throat clicking with a cold, murky fear that nearly chokes me, and go in.

  Jimmy hangs on the wall.

  The laughter swirls through the room like a midwinter wind, but no one is here but us.

  I want to run to him. I want to run away. Instead I stand there, just inside the doorway, and stare. They’ve crucified him.

  Turning, I stumble back outside and throw up.

  When there isn’t anything left inside me but fury, I tighten my hand on my knife and return.

  I stride across the room, my teeth clenched, and try to take the nails out of his feet. They’re gold, of course, otherwise they wouldn’t hold him at all.