Shaded Vision (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #11)

Shaded Vision (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #11) Page 32

I skimmed through the pages until I found what I was looking for.

“It’s no coincidence that Gulakah showed up here at this point.” I pointed to one of the paragraphs. “Here—it says that Newkirk showed up on the scene a couple weeks ago. Van and Jaycee took an immediate interest in him.”

“They recognized the spirit seal?” Trillian rapped his fingers on the table.

“Yeah. My bet is that they’ve figured out that Newkirk really does have one of the spirit seals and that they called home to Shadow Wing for help. Chances are, they don’t know how powerful Newkirk is—yet. If they try to steal the seal by themselves and fail, that’s going to look really bad to Big Daddy back home in the Sub-Realms.”

“So, call for help and that way, it removes the responsibility from Van and Jaycee should something go wrong.” Smoky said. “Which means the demon general knows exactly who has the spirit seal.”

“Which means we’re not the only ones after Newkirk. A three-way race against someone determined to keep what they’ve got. Us, Trytian, and the demons.” The potential results of that race didn’t make me altogether comfortable. In fact, two out of the three possible end scenarios weren’t in our favor.

Chase opened the door and slipped back in. We looked at him, waiting. He cocked his head to the side, a faint smile flickering across his lips. “I just went to check on something and we may have lucked out. Turns out one of our FBH rape victims reported the attack when it happened a year and a half ago. They got DNA off her, but no hits were ever made, and though she described her attacker to the sketch artist, there were never any leads. We already ordered a DNA swab from Andy Gambit in Alfina’s case. We’ll know in a couple of days. I put a rush on it.”

“It’s going to be positive. You know it is, and then we make that pervert fry. Now, we’ve got some info for you about one of the spirit seals. We have a new demon general in town.” My cell rang and I stopped to answer it. The Caller ID read Trytian. Crap, what now?

I flipped it open, listened to what Trytian had to say, and then turned to the others. “Don’t they ever give it a rest? Van and Jaycee have been spotted over in one of the graveyards. They’re with Telazhar, raising the dead—who knows for what purpose? Looks like they’re intent on wreaking as much havoc as possible.” I turned to Chase. “Can we borrow weapons? Not guns, of course, but my dagger’s at home and so is Trillian’s sword, and Camille’s knife.”

Chase nodded. As he called for Shamas to get a couple of long daggers from the armory, we grabbed our jackets. “I wish I could go with you, but I need my men here, in case things get ugly. Gambit’s incarcerated here, and I don’t want a situation where there’s a run on the station.”

“No problem. We can take care of this,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. At that moment, Shamas hurried in and handed Trillian, Camille, and me each a good-sized dagger. They weren’t silver but they were sharp, with cool steel hilts. As we headed toward the door, I gave them directions.

“We’re headed to Freeburg Cemetery, a secluded graveyard in the West Seattle area.” West Seattle wasn’t all that far from the Industrial District, where the Energy Exchange bar was.

As we burst out the doors, we saw that the protest had swelled dramatically. There were three times as many protesters as there had been when we entered the building, but the majority of the new ones carried counterprotest signs. The media was having a field day, news crews all over, taking photographs and filming the relatively peaceful mob. I spotted Tim, standing with a bullhorn. He stood next to Neely, who had another bullhorn. Waving to them, I scrambled into my Jeep and put the car into gear as Shade joined me.

“I wish I’d brought Lysanthra,” I muttered. “She’s silver and works really well against the undead.”

“Yes, but at least we have blades.” Shade nodded. “We’ll just have to get along with what we have. We don’t have time to go home.”

“Yeah, I know. But from now on, we go armed everywhere. I’ve been caught twice in the past few days relying on what I had on hand. Not again.”

As we peeled out of the parking lot, following Camille’s Lexus, life felt all too chaotic. I longed for the days when we were a small band, fighting what seemed like a relatively tame enemy.

Freeburg Cemetery was the home of the unclaimed dead, the final resting place for those with no money for fancy funerals or family to acknowledge them. A group of churches—including the United Worlds Church—contributed to the upkeep, as well as the burial of the indigent, the homeless, and the nameless.

The size of a small city block, the graveyard was surrounded by an iron picket fence that was falling over in some places. The budget for maintenance apparently didn’t extend far enough to cover nonessentials. But the grass was neatly mowed, and a few rose bushes were scattered here and there among the maples and cedars and firs. Three statues of angels rose from the center of the park to watch over the dead.

I scanned the lot. The thickets of trees shaded lurkers, but even though it was midmorning, there weren’t many mourners in sight. In fact, I doubted that the Freeburg Cemetery ever saw anybody come through to leave flowers or say a prayer for the dead, at least after the initial burial.

“There—over there behind that stand of cedars.” Camille pointed to the right. I squinted and followed her direction. Figures were milling around what appeared to be a cluster of graves.

“Has to be them. Unless some family has suddenly discovered that one of their missing members was planted here. Come on, let’s go. Stick to the trees.” We slipped between the trees, crouching down. With luck, they hadn’t spotted us.

“I’ll be damned,” Camille whispered. She was kneeling behind a large fern that filled the space between two large Douglas firs. The fern must have been growing there for years because it was at least four feet high and stretched between the trunks with ease. Camille parted the fronds and peered through them.

“What do you see?”

“It’s Jaycee. Van and Jaycee are here. And there’s somebody with them.” She turned back to me, her face pale. “I think it might be Telazhar.”

“Telazhar? How do we handle him?” I thought for a moment. “Do you see any sign of Newkirk?” The last thing we were prepared for at the moment was a Koyanni with a spirit seal. Especially one who knew how to use it.

She shook her head. “No, and I only see two other Tregarts standing lookout. But there are other figures out there, lurching around.”

“Lurching? That doesn’t sound promising.” Lurching meant a lack in the motor skills department. And that much of a lack of coordination implied undead. Either that, or Van and Jaycee were hanging out with a bunch of drunken frat boys, and that didn’t seem likely.

“Wait—Telazhar just…vanished.” She shook her head. “He’s able to teleport.”

“Either that or he used a gate spell. Remember, we think he’s the one who gated Stacia over here. At least with him out of the picture, we can probably take on Van and Jaycee. Are you ready to rumble?” I unsheathed the dagger Shamas had given me. While it wasn’t silver, it had a wicked serrated blade. “Well, now, this will do some damage.”

Camille smiled, then inhaled slowly, the crackle of magic rising around her. Holding out her hands, she began to summon energy—by now I could spot it a mile away when she was gearing up for a spell. “Yeah. I owe Van a nasty fucking roll in some glass.”

I looked at the men. “You guys ready to go in?”

They nodded.

“Then…let’s go. And this time, let’s try to avoid letting them escape.” I moved to the front, motioning for Shade and Smoky to follow me. Camille and Trillian moved to the side. Without another word, we went racing from behind the trees.

Van and Jaycee looked just about like we remembered them: dangerous, lying, scum. They were wearing jeans and polo shirts—and combat boots with nasty looking steel toes on them. They whirled as we came running out and barked an order.

Two more Tregarts—they looked like lackeys—stepped in front of the pair. But standing between the four demons and us were a half dozen ghouls. Or zombies. I wasn’t sure which. Zombies were easier to kill than ghouls, so we’d find out the hard way.

Camille moved to one side and immediately let loose a bolt of energy directly at Van. She had a score to settle with him, and it looked like she wasn’t wasting any time. I moved in to help her, but one of the zombies moved toward me, cutting off my view of what Van was up to. I tried to dart around the fiend, but even though it was slow, it was quick enough to cut off my access. There was no evading it. I’d have to fight.

Zombies would fight till they were torn apart. They were merely reanimated bodies. They had no souls, they felt no pain. Ghouls had some semblance of intelligence, warped as it was, but zombies were mere cannon fodder. Ghouls fed on flesh and energy, while zombies merely ate flesh and destroyed anything alive that they came across.

As the creature shuffled toward me, I sized up my options. Shamas had given us good, solid blades, and it wouldn’t take much to carve up the creature if I planned my attack. I was faster and quicker than the zombie. They were dangerous in the sense that they were strong and hard to stop, but they normally weren’t speedy.

A spin kick knocked the creature back. As it reeled away, I took the opportunity to slice through the zombie’s gut and watched as the embalmed organs dropped out. Damn, Shamas had given me a sharp blade!

The corpse grunted but ignored the rain of organs pouring out of its stomach. It swiped at me, but I managed to keep it at arm’s length with the dagger. As I glanced over to my left, I saw Smoky ripping one of the zombies to shreds. Shade had taken care of one of them, too. That left four.

A shout echoed from behind the zombies and a flash lit up the air. The next moment, my opponent began to move faster, a gleam in its eye. Hell! What spell had Van cast now?

I didn’t have time to think about what was going on because the shambling lump of rotting flesh had become a freight train, bearing down on me. The zombie managed to evade my knife as a fist slammed into my side. I stumbled back from the blow—I felt like a concrete ball had hit me. As I struggled to catch my breath another flash lit up the sky as a woman shrieked.

“Camille!” I tried to dart past the zombie, but it blocked my way.

“Wasn’t me! Keep fighting.”

She sounded fine, so I turned my attention back to the corpse—it was coming in fast with another blow, but this time I managed to sidestep the attack and stabbed again, this time hitting its shoulder. Instead of pulling the blade out, I dragged it over the top, pressing to break the joint and slice the arm off. The zombie grunted again.

Before he could turn, I managed to slip around behind the creature and bring my dagger across the base of its neck, cutting through the vertebrae. As its head flopped forward, severed except for a thin line of flesh, gravity took over and the skin ripped, the head falling to the ground. Still grunting, the mouth snapped open and shut, unable to do anything. The body lurched blindly, and it was an easy matter to begin parceling out the rest.

A slice here, a slice there, and the other arm fell off. I severed the fingers and thumbs from both arms, and they flopped uselessly like fat grubs, unable to pull themselves along the grass. Within minutes, the zombie was an assortment of body parts. So much dead meat. The flesh quivered and jiggled, attempting to move, but the spell would wear off and this time, the corpse would stay dead in the ground once we reburied it.

Another shriek—this time it was Camille. I raced to help her, but one of the Tregart thugs jumped in my path.

“Ah, crap.” I went into fighting stance as the demon laughed, approaching. He had the usual chain that Tregarts seemed to love to wield, whirling it as he eyed me with a glint in his eye.

“Come on, Blondie. You like it rough?” He lunged forward, his chain whistling toward me. I dove to the side, coming up with knife at the ready, turning my body so I was protected as well as I could be. As long as he had that chain, he could keep me at arm’s length unless I could dart in too close for him to use it.

Looking for an opening, I stepped to the right. He turned to follow me, and I quickly darted back to the left before he realized what I was doing and drove my knife straight into his side, moving in close enough for the chain to be a liability. He dropped it as he screamed, grabbing for his belt knife. I shoved against him, using the hilt for leverage.

He let go of the knife, flailing to keep his balance, and we both went tumbling to the ground. I yanked my dagger back as he reached for my throat. Blood fountained out of his side and—as he grappled for my neck—I brought the hilt of the blade down on his forehead. A crack on his skull and he let go of the knife. Another good crack and his head fell to the side.

I jumped up, looking for his partner, but the other Tregart goon was already dead, and by the looks of the rake marks across his midsection, Smoky’d had a go at him. As I frantically tried to assess the situation, Camille screamed again. I whirled around to see her holding her side, doubled over. Smoke was wafting off her and the ground around her.

As I frantically looked for Jaycee, a body on the ground caught my attention. Jaycee! Camille had managed to drop her—or…Shade stepped out of a shadow cast by the tree and I realized he’d been the one who took Jaycee out. He and Smoky were bearing down on Van, whose sneer quickly vanished.

“Dragons!” He let out one shout and turned to run. As Smoky and Shade gave chase, there was a flash, and Van disappeared. Camille was crawling over to Jaycee, still holding her side. Trillian was trying to keep her still. In three quick strides, I was by Jaycee’s side. She was still alive but stunned. Something had managed to knock her out, but she was coming around and the minute she was conscious, she’d be a danger.