Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (26 page)

Gulmet wrenched control back. Instantly, bones stretched and popped. "
Damn you!
"

Matt fired and spun to face the swooping succubus.

Dämoren's slug slammed into Malcolm's gut. He doubled over. The blessed silver burned like molten steel. Blood hissed from the bullet hole, and the freshly grown hairs around it thinned, but it wasn't enough to stop the transformation.

Vimiya shrieked and screamed. Another shot boomed, echoing off the building walls. Gulmet looked up to see Matt on his back, pistol raised, and the succubus flapping away.

Gulmet's clothes tightened and tore like tissue. He rose, his claws clacking on the metal roof.

Matt looked up at the sound. On his back and upside down, he raised the gun and fired.

Gulmet ducked as the bullet whizzed past. Injured and alone, trying to take the gunman would be suicide. He clambered to the rear edge of the roof and dropped, landing in an overgrown rock pile butted up against the back of the building. The fall couldn't hurt him, but the sudden jolt shot pain though the bullet wound. Silver slugs he'd felt before. Feeding would push them out as he healed. But Dämoren's bullet burned different, twisting inside him like a live thing made of embers. Rolling to his feet, he hurried toward the rows of tracks, one claw clutched across his bleeding stomach.

He hobbled behind a pair of box cars and let out a pained wheeze. A pale, bald patch surrounded the wound, nearly five inches across. His hold of Malcolm was slipping. Even now, he felt the mortal thrashing inside his mind, struggling to evict him. "
Need to dig it out.
"

Gnashing his teeth, he slid a claw into the hole, fishing for it. The pain was unlike any he'd felt. Before, it was merely sensation of his body, but the agony the bullet gave was real. He hissed hard breaths as he probed deeper. He just needed to hook it out.

"You!" Vimiya shrieked from above, slamming into him.

Gulmet fell against the jagged rocks. He moved to turn, but the succubus seized the back of his head and bashed it against the train wheel.

"How dare you betray me!" Her grip tightened to smash his head again, but Gulmet grabbed her wrist and wrenched her over his shoulder.

"It wasn't me," he panted. "The mortal took control. He warned Matt."

Vimiya's narrowed eyes stared hatefully from behind her black hair. "You idiot," she spat. Blood oozed down her leg from a deep gash in her hip. A bullet hole perforated the apex of one wing. "You lost control?"

"Apologies, Mistress, I—"

She sprang, her claws reaching for his throat. He fell backward, the succubus on him. They rolled across the gravel, snarling and thrashing.

The bullet burned with each movement. Gulmet clutched her wrists, desperately pulling them away. Vimiya's claws raked his skin.

"I should have killed you when we met!" she hissed, her face contorted with rage. Vimiya flapped her wings, giving a boost as she wrenched herself on top of him. "Useless." She drove her weight down, grabbing Gulmet's neck. Her iron-like fingers squeezed, claws breaking skin, threatening to tear out his throat. She grinned wickedly down, a drop of spittle on her lips.

The side of Vimiya's head exploded, spraying brains and blood. Purple fire erupted from the hole as the shot's rapport echoed though the train yard. She fell limp. Her outstretched wings came down around her like a spidery parachute.

Gulmet heaved the flaming corpse off him and looked up to see Matt atop the scrap yard building, gun before him. Light from the burning blood along Dämoren's blade flickered across the hunter's face. Orange flashed.

The shot took Gulmet in the side.

His flesh-form dissolving, Gulmet scrambled back for the cover of the box cars as a third shot pinged off the white rocks beside him. The twin slugs seared his insides as he ran, stumbling alongside the cars. His vessel was dying, and if he was in it when it happened, he would die with it. The thirty feet from the roof to the train yard would be too far for Matt to jump. Gulmet just needed to get away long enough to move bodies.

Reaching the end of the line of train cars, Gulmet raced across the open ground past the other tracks to where more rested. The pads of his feet had already dissolved to human, and the sharp rocks stung his bare soles. He expected to feel the bullet hit his back, but it never came. "
I must be out of range.
" Gulmet reached the row of still cars and dove though the hitched gap to safety.

Panting, his body panged with each breath. Gulmet stopped behind a spray-painted cattle car and allowed his flesh-form to return to human.

Malcolm's knees buckled as the demon's weight lifted away. The burning pain of the blessed slugs dimmed, feeling numb in comparison to how they'd hurt before. He gasped and pressed his arm against the hole in his side and hand across the caked belly wound. Wisps of Vimiya's fiery blood still burned along his chest and ragged shirt. Malcolm tried to wipe them off, but they only smeared, their light faded.

He was dying. The demon knew it too. It'd left him here to bleed out. "Good shot, Matt." Malcolm coughed.

A soft breeze coursed down the valley of tracks, cooling his sweat-soaked skin. He brushed the hair from his face to feel it on his forehead. Malcolm smiled. He had done that. Ever since Atabei had cursed him, he'd never had full control of anything. Now, as he died, he had it back. He could make his own decisions, think his own thoughts.

His mind wandered to Hounacier. Did she miss him? Was Atabei treating her well?
I want to see her
, he thought.
One last time.

Wincing, Malcolm pulled himself up and started walking. Atabei's house was only a few short blocks across the canal. He clutched his wounds and started toward the drawbridge only a hundred yards away. His death was inevitable. Dämoren's bullets had seen to that. Removing them might save him, but Gulmet would only take him again. If he was going to die, Malcolm was going to express his newfound freedom the only way he could. He would die by Hounacier. He could make that walk, and if he couldn't, he'd at least die trying.

Malcolm staggered over the rocks but managed to find momentum. He didn't look up, just one foot in front of the other. He could make it. Car noise hummed ahead, growing closer.

The bleeding seemed to have slowed. At least the jelly-like clumps had stopped growing as fast. But the external bleeding was only a small part, and he tried not to think of the blood and fluids pouring all though his shredded insides. Probably why he was so thirsty.

Before he knew it, he'd reached the trash-strewn underpass. It stank of smoke and piss and cigarettes. Grimy faces watched him from the shadows. He continued though, pretending he couldn't see them.

"Malcolm."

He looked up, seeing a bearded man in a threadbare T-shirt hobbling toward him.

The stranger held up a hand. "Malcolm, wait."

"I can't," Malcolm said to the unknown loa.

Another figure stepped out from behind one of the square, concrete pillars. He popped a lens from a plastic pair of sunglasses and put them on. "Milky, you're hurtin'."

Malcolm met Papa Ghede's single eye. "I'm going to Hounacier then to Ulises."

"Who did this to you?" the first loa asked. Malcolm now recognized Legba's lilting accent. "We can help."

"Atabei." Malcolm shook his head. "And you can't."

"We can help you," Ghede pleaded.

Malcolm kept walking. Reaching the opposite side of the underpass, he started up the slope. He looked back at the two loa still standing there. "Goodbye."

Legba said something after him, but the rumble of traffic drowned it out.

Malcolm clenched his teeth and followed the footpath up to the bridge. Cars raced past, their lights blinding. He crawled over the low concrete wall onto the road and started across, the oncoming cars to his back. They whooshed past, not even slowing. He must have made a pitiful sight, barefoot in shredded, filthy clothes, hobbling along the foot-wide shoulder. The thirst was worsening, but he continued, one foot in front of the other. He still expected to feel the next bullet come—maybe he wouldn't even feel it—but it didn't. He crossed the dark canal and over into the Ninth Ward.

Once finally reaching the bottom, he looked back, but Matt wasn't there. Didn't matter anyway.

He'd made it halfway to Atabei's now, and faint renewal sparked in his tired legs. He could make it. He could see Hounacier one last time. "Kuquo," he muttered, speaking her name for the first time.

The streets off the main road were dark. The gut shot had started bleeding again, running down Malcolm's leg. He walked, barely noticing his surroundings. He should, he thought. This was the last street he'd ever see. He should take it in, but he couldn't. Instead, he thought of how much he wished he could thank Jim for taking him in, tell Maggie goodbye, and thank Matt for getting Maggie and Alpuente out of that house and also for setting him free. Most of all, he wished he had bothered to tell Tasha how much he still loved her, how much he regretted breaking her heart when he left and how he hoped she might forgive him one day. Soon, he'd meet Bondye, God. He'd meet Ulises beyond the crossroads and apologize for being such a poor son. He'd see Colin, Marcus, Ben, and so many friends now gone, so many he'd had to kill. He hoped they forgave him

Faint drumming worked into his consciousness as he drew closer. Malcolm looked up to see smoke rising from behind Atabei's fenced block ahead. From the sounds of it, the priestess had company.
At least I get to crash one final party.
He smiled at the dumb joke.

He shuffled across the street and followed the earthen path that served as the sidewalk around to Atabei's castle-like home. Whoops and shouts accompanied the rapid drums beyond the high fence. A single yellow light burned above a door beside the car gate. Malcolm stopped, rose to the highest he could, and knocked.

Metal rattled, and the door cracked open. Sadie peered out, and her narrow-spaced eyes widened.

Malcolm slid a foot though the gate door before she could slam it shut. "I want to see Atabei."

The chubby woman stepped back, mouth open, then ran. "Mama Atabei! It's here, Mama Atabei!" The drums faltered then stopped.

Malcolm pushed his way through. Figures stood silhouetted against a high fire beside the carved post. Many rose from a row of benches to one side while others sat and watched Malcolm's slow approach.

Sogbo and Bade stood far to the side, leashed to a post, watching. Maybe they still remembered the monster they'd seen and wouldn't bark. The crowd parted as he neared, and Atabei stood at the heart of the ring, firelight flickering across her white dress and glinting off Hounacier's blade in her hand.

Malcolm squinted, smoke stinging his eyes. "I'm ready."

"He killed Peewee," a woman said.

Atabei's cold eyes watched him near. She raised the machete beside her, standing proud, but Malcolm only watched the blade. He should have felt hatred for her, but he couldn't. All he felt was the joy of seeing Hounacier again.

The worshipers peeled away from their circle, moving behind Atabei.

Malcolm stopped at the edge of the chalk-drawn ring. "Do it," he coughed, his eyes still on the machete. "Set me free." Then he whispered, "Kuquo."

"So you admit I am Hounacier's master?" she asked, taking a step.

"I admit she is no longer mine. But no one is her master."

Her lips drew into a satisfied sneer. "Kneel, demon."

Malcolm stood tall, his knees threatening to buckle. He would not kneel for her. He lowered the hand from his gut, letting the blood flow. It didn't matter now.

Atabei stepped closer and raised the machete high. A drum began beating, followed by another. Malcolm lifted his chin, readying for the blow.

"This is for Hercule!" She swung. Hounacier's blade stopped a foot from Malcolm's neck as if it had hit a tree trunk. It quivered, resisting her the way it resisted him when giving a blessing. She took it in both hands, fighting the blade, pushing it toward him.

In that moment, Malcolm realized his mistake. Hounacier had never renounced him. She hadn't broken the bond. Gulmet had hidden it from his mind. She loved him still and fought against killing him. The demon's deception had worked. Somewhere deep inside, he heard Gulmet's laughter.

Malcolm found his anger.

Atabei swung the machete again. The blade slowed but came down. Malcolm tried to move but fell back onto the packed ground. In a frustrated grunt, she thrust down at him. The blade bent, missing his heart, but still bit into his left arm.

Malcolm cried out. He tried to crawl away on his back, but he was too weak. If Hounacier still loved him, then there was hope, but he couldn't make himself move. Darkness wormed at the edges of his vision. He'd lost.

Atabei screamed, raising the blade point down, ready to drive it into him.

An engine roared.

The priestess stumbled back as a blue flatbed pickup smashed though the perimeter fence, its headlights cutting twin beams through the smoky yard. The truck's doors flew open, and the homeless Papa Ghede hopped out, laughing like a madman, followed by Legba. Matt swung from the driver's seat, Dämoren in one hand and the Mac-10 slung over his shoulder. He leveled the machine pistol at the white Lexus twenty feet beside him. A foot-long flame spewed from the barrel in a loud rip.