Panther Prowling Page 18

  I could smell them from where I stood, but beneath the floral scent, I detected another smell. As a werecat, I could pick up on pheromones, and the flowers—they definitely had grown large on the stench of fear.

  Ivana gave me a sly look, tapping the side of her nose with her finger. “I spy, my pretty Pussycat, a look in your eye. You know I speak the truth.”

  Nodding slowly, I folded my arms across my chest. The more we dealt with Ivana, the more nervous she made me. It occurred to me that perhaps Camille could ask Aeval to fill us in on Ivana’s background. We knew a little of it, but it did not pay to meddle with the Elder Fae, and asking too many questions could inadvertently seal you into unexpected bargains with them. And a deal was as good as a blood oath.

  Wilbur, however, didn’t have the benefit of our experience, and we’d never really thought to discuss the Elder Fae with him. But luckily for us, he wasn’t stupid. When he spoke, I could tell he was measuring his words—Wilbur could never be called discreet; he was blunt and direct to the point of being obnoxious. But this time, he surprised me.

  “Maiden of Karask, I believe, is the name you prefer?” His voice sounded rough over the words, but for once he wasn’t being snide.

  “Ivana will do for your use, Mad Man. What do you wish to ask?” She gave him a keen look, like a bird eyeing prey far below.

  Wilbur flashed a look over at me, then cleared his throat. “What do we do next, then?”

  Ivana began strolling between the rows of headstones in her garden. “Let me find the biggest and best. Oh, it will have to be a strapping spirit! Top of the line and nothing less. You will prepare a spell to control it, but mind you, Mad Man . . . you will not steal any of my other ghosties. I know you are a bone-mage, but lest any spare thoughts linger about wresting my spirits from me, put them to beddy-bye now.”

  Wilbur shrugged. “I prefer working with zombies and ghouls, to be honest. So don’t worry yourself over it. I’ll get ready. The ghost can’t be under your control when I go after it, so you’ll have to free it, and in that moment, before it flees, I have to capture control.”

  I was beginning to see what they were doing. Ivana could contain them—that was her control—but she couldn’t command them once they were trapped. But Wilbur was a necromancer and he could cast a spell on the ghosts in order to control their behavior.

  “We understand one another. This is good.” Ivana stopped by one tombstone. She lightly ran her fingers over the marble, then turned back to us. “This one. He will do nicely. He is my favorite. Breaking the silence has been difficult with this one. He’s strong and willful, though, and wily and I find it hard to force his screams. So prepare yourself, Mad Man, because I predict gaining control over him will not be the slice of teacake you think it will.”

  Wilbur set out his things in a flat area near the tombstone. Camille and Morio silently helped him arrange the altar. A skull, with the back of the skullcap carved away. In the skull, Wilbur set a red candle.

  To the right of it, he set a bottle filled with a purple liquid that looked bubbly and phosphorescent. To the left, he placed a wand. Dark and thin, it was carved from a spindly branch, and blue gems encrusted it, scattered liberally around the surface. A silver wire, thin as dental floss, wound around it diagonally. Wilbur cleared out a place in the dirt and drew a strange symbol on it that reminded me of a Japanese kanji character like I’d seen Morio use.

  After he drew the symbol, he sat back, shrugged off his coat, and wrapped a headband around his head. It was woven in blue and yellow, and had what looked like South American indigenous symbols on it. A sapphire the size of a fifty-cent piece sat in the center, right over his third eye.

  The headband made me think of the Aztecs, or the Mayans—something along those lines. I knew that Wilbur had been in the Marines down in the jungles of South America, and that was where he’d learned necromancy. Whatever those symbols were, ten to one, they were from whatever shaman had taught him.

  Next, Wilbur pulled out a necklace and draped it around his neck. The necklace was made from bone—looking like snake vertebrae interspersed with polished smoky quartz spikes. It began to glow a pale green the moment he put it on. He squatted back on his heels, pressed his hands together, and closed his eyes.

  Camille and Morio immediately stiffened and took up their stances behind him, Camille, her legs spread and her hands raised to the sky, with Morio standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders to brace her up.

  Even I could feel the energy wind and coil as it began to grow. I said nothing, but suddenly found myself wearing my Death Maiden robes. Something big was going on here.

  You know what you need to do if that thing gets loose. The whisper fluttered through my mind—it was Hi’ran’s voice.

  I need to perform an oblition if the spirit runs free.

  Yes, and you must do so regardless of Ivana’s protests.

  So the Autumn Lord himself was peeking in on this one. Which meant that, whatever spirit this had been—whoever he had been when he was alive—he’d been a monster. Oblition, or the total destruction of the soul, was saved for the most violent and worst offenders, who had so tainted their soul-stuff that there was no ability to cleanse it. Or they had broken the rules of universal balance beyond easy repair. I wondered who he had been, but then pushed the thought out of my head. I needed to focus.

  Ivana looked at us, and her joy turned to silent contemplation. She nodded at Wilbur, who nodded back. Standing back, she raised her silver staff and the sky clouded over, night suddenly rolling in over her house. As the darkening sky raced in, my blood quickened.

  And then, Ivana began to grow. She stretched tall—at least ten feet tall rising into the star-studded sky. Brilliant and beautiful, she eclipsed the stars, her hair flowing into the inky depths of the night—silver as the moon with inky streaks racing through it. The wrinkles and warts vanished to reveal angular cheekbones jutting from her face. Gaunt she was, with glowing embers for eyes. She belonged to the night, to earth and fire, to the stars above. Ivana Krask became the Maiden of Karask before our eyes, and her laughter echoed through the dark currents surrounding us.

  She raised her silver staff and brought it down, striking the tombstone. A screech of pain ripped out of the marble to ripple through the night, and the agony of that cry knifed through my gut, almost doubling me over. The pain—delicious and dark and terrifying—fed me, even as Ivana let out a whoop of joy and hunger. The flowers rose their heads and a thousand tongues slipped out from their centers to taste the suffering that permeated the garden.

  A second time Ivana struck the stone, and a bluish light spiraled up from the marble, snuffling like a crazed animal. The spirit was free.

  I stiffened, preparing myself to take it down should need be. But Wilbur thrust his wand into the air as the candle flames lit of their own accord. He no longer looked like the decrepit ZZ Top wannabe, but like the wild-eyed madman Ivana had nicknamed him. He raised both hands as the spirit stopped, turning with a hiss. I had no clue what he was saying, but Wilbur began to chant.

  The spirit screeched, resisting, but Camille and Morio took up Wilbur’s song, reinforcing his power. They worked in concert, the three of them, while Ivana watched, towering over all of us, a feral laughter ripping out of her throat.

  The next moment, Wilbur held up a crystal spike and the spirit—with one final scream—spiraled down into the quartz. The crystal began to glow a pale blue, as Wilbur started to collapse to his knees. Behind him, Moro caught Camille as she stumbled back.

  Ivana strode forward, still in her uncloaked visage, and steadied Wilbur. She leaned down, examining his face for a moment like a bird might study its prey, and then without a word, kissed him, her lips plastered firmly against his. He groaned, first starting to push away, then he melted into her embrace with a soft grunt.

  I was trying to take in everything that was happening
when she let go and stepped back, tapping the ground with her staff again. The night began to fade away, and within seconds, she was back to being Ivana the bag lady. Wilbur, clearly shaken, alternated between staring at the crystal in his hand, and over at Ivana, who seemed to have forgotten all about kissing him.

  Unsure what to do next, I waited while Morio and Camille sorted themselves out. After another moment, Ivana turned back to us.

  “I shall miss my favorite beastie. So much fun to play with, and he fed my garden so well. Keep him safe for me, Mad Man. I will give you a vessel in which to trap the devil-wraith. When you have done so, you will call me, and I will come to fetch both my ghostie and the wraith. My garden will be so beautiful this season. You have no idea how much pain I can siphon off a devil-wraith.” She laughed, and motioned for us to turn.

  Within seconds, the portal had re-formed behind us. “Go now,” she said. “The Mad Man knows how to cast his spell, he does. And he knows what will happen should he change his mind about returning my toys.”

  Wilbur, visibly shaking, turned back to her. “Don’t ever worry about me double-crossing you. You’ll get your toys back.” But he looked a little lost, and he kept wiping his mouth—not as if trying to get any Elder Fae germs off it—but like he was trying to preserve a memory.

  Without a word, I motioned for Morio to help Camille back through the portal. Wilbur went next. As I was about to follow, Ivana stopped me.

  “I know what you were about, Pussycat. You would have destroyed my toy should the Mad Man have lost control.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes, those were my orders.”

  She gave me a beady-eyed look. “Be cautious and watch the spirit, girl. If something goes awry, destroy him. He was a mass murderer in his life—and I do mean mass murderer. He commanded armies and killed wantonly. He loved the chaos and pain he created, and he craved the bloodshed. Don’t you think it a fitting end for him, to find his way to my garden?”

  Shuddering, I couldn’t do anything but nod. “Yes, actually, I do think it fitting.” Before I left, I asked one last question. “Ivana, you can tell me or not, as you like . . . but how long do you keep them for?”

  She glanced back at the tombstones. “Oh, girl, a very long, long time. Long enough so that most of them forget who they were. Long enough so that I drain every last ounce of energy and will from them. Long enough so that all that remains when I am done with them is a faint voice haunting the wind with its cries.” And then, she motioned for me to leave, and I did.

  * * *

  We found ourselves once again in the backyard behind the house. I was both exhausted yet on an adrenaline high. Wilbur looked like he wanted to skedaddle but all he did was to ask for a chair. Vanzir ran to get one for him.

  “So now what?” Camille knelt in the grass beside him. She was shivering. The rain was still pouring down. It was getting so wet there would be flood warnings out before morning. The rivers around Western Washington flooded with alarming frequency, and people knew that if you built on a riverbank, you chanced flooding at some point in your life.

  Wilbur gratefully dropped into the chair Vanzir had brought. “Thanks, Vanzir.” He regarded us quietly. “I have no idea what the fuck to make of that whole little interlude, but I’ll sort it out later. Right now, I have the spirit trapped in this crystal and it has to do what I command it. But I can only give it five commands before the spell wears off. If I were more powerful, I might be able to bind it for life, but after I died, it could really fuck me up good. It’s better this way—give him back to Ivana after we’re done with him.”

  I hadn’t thought about it before but it made sense. A necromancer who died while still in control of spirits would then be in the spirit world with them, and they could wreak havoc on him because the majority of bindings were broken by the death of the spellcaster.

  “How do you need to work this? What do you need us to do?” Camille sounded as weary as I felt.

  Wilbur glanced at her, then at me. “I need to go in there, with some backup, please, and release the spirit, then order it to contain the devil-wraith in the vessel she gave me.” He held up a miniature headstone. “Seems mighty small for such a massive spirit, but having seen Ivana’s garden, I’m going to give that broad a pass on trusting it will work.”

  “Morio and I will go with you.” Camille pushed herself to her feet, wincing.

  I followed suit. “I need to go, too. Both Ivana and the Autumn Lord gave me strict orders that, if the spirit somehow manages to get free of Wilbur’s control, I’m supposed to blot it out of existence. I know what he did while he was alive. I don’t have any more sympathy for him when it comes to Ivana’s games.”

  They both stared at me. Wilbur cocked his head to the right. “Is that so, Pussycat? Then I’ll be extremely careful, because if he’s that dangerous, I’ll be the first target he goes for if he breaks through my control.”

  “You’d do well to be cautious.” I held his gaze for a moment and, for the first time, didn’t feel like Wilbur was trying to strip my clothes off in his mind.

  Morio motioned for us to follow him. “Let’s get this over while we’re all still conscious enough to muddle through. It’s four thirty and it feels like we’ve been at this for hours, even though it’s only been what . . . ninety minutes?”

  We headed toward the house. I really didn’t want to go back in there, but then again—I had my doubts whether anybody did. Right now, tentacles and vines appeared to be thrashing out of the windows. We’d have a lot of glass to replace. After the snowstorm in our living room, I had a feeling that any furniture that had survived that deluge would now be ready for the thrift store. Or the dump. Time for a total redecoration.

  “So Wilbur, what do you need us to do?” Morio grabbed Camille’s hand. I could tell they were starting to build the energy between them even as we were walking.

  “Can you create a protective circle around all of us and hold it until I can cast my spell? I don’t need to find the central core of the critter. I just have to be in proximity to some part of it. That’s one of the better things about the tribe that taught me my necromancy—they work down and dirty. No book learning, no sticking to rules. You do what works and you go in fast and quick.” Wilbur narrowed his eyes and I was suddenly glad he was on our side. The man might be crude and lewd, but he was also ruthless and efficient, even if he did like watching Jeopardy with his brother Martin. The ghoul.

  “We can do that. But let us get the circle up before we go in.” We were out front now. It was easier to get in the front door than through the back porch.

  While they raised the magic for the circle, I lowered myself into as deep a meditative state as I could get. I needed to be ready to shift into Death Maiden mode. Instinct suddenly took hold and I found myself in black panther form, growling low as the lights in the house took on a whole new dimension to me. I could see the aura of the devil-wraith. It raged out from the house, thrashing—hungry and searching for food. I growled again and realized that, while I was on the physical plane, it would be easier to carry out the oblition this way rather than trying to clear my head in my two-legged form.

  Wilbur didn’t ask any questions. He reached down and lightly patted my head. I didn’t want him to touch me, but he wasn’t the enemy and I was aware enough to know that, so I gave in, snuffling his hand and giving it one big lick. That would stick with me when I shifted back, but for now it seemed to be the thing to do.

  A moment later, Camille spoke. “We’re ready. Stay within the circle, both of you. Do you understand me, Delilah?”

  I let out a low growl and bobbed my head up and down, moving to place myself firmly within the pentagram that now surrounded us. A mobile star within a circle, it was composed of flaming violet fire—the color of death magic—and as long as we were within the confines of it, we were relatively safe. The moment the pair were attacked or forced to attack,
we’d lose the protection, but for now, we were guarded.

  “Okay. Step by step, we head up the porch.” Morio led the way, hand in hand with Camille. Wilbur and I followed them, pacing ourselves to stay within the flaming magical fire without bumping into my sister and her husband.

  We reached the door without incident and I realized that—whatever the devil-wraith was—it couldn’t voluntarily leave the house. Somehow, whatever ghost had conjured it had tied it to our place. Otherwise, the damned thing would be out here, attacking us. Enemies didn’t generally wait for you to intrude on their domain if they knew where you were and that you were on the warpath.

  With her free hand, Camille opened the door. Morio fell back a step, still holding her hand, so they could enter without disrupting the protection. Wilbur and I paid close attention, making certain we didn’t lag behind.

  We entered the foyer and the noise became deafening. Wails and screeches—screams . . . the devil-wraith was letting loose like there was no tomorrow. As we stepped through the arch leading into the living room, a deep laughter echoed through the walls, and the front door slammed shut and a tangle of vines grew up over the door.

  We were locked in.

  Chapter 12

  “I suggest you get a move on, Wilbur.” Morio was shivering. I could tell he wanted to transform into his youkai form—something he didn’t have full control over. When anything threatened, it was his nature to change. And if he changed right now, he’d break the spell.

  Wilbur fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out the crystal. For an FBH, he was keeping a pretty damned cool head, but then again, he’d been a Marine, and the Marines? They were trained to cope with funky shit in battle. In one hand, he held the crystal with the ghost in it; in the other, he held the miniature tombstone.

  As if it knew what he was doing, the devil-wraith roared, thrashing around the boundaries of the pentacle, its vines trying to creep through the circle of protection. A large tentacle came slamming out of the parlor and thudded against the force field that the spell had created.