No Humans Involved (32 page)

Miraculous

WHEN THE MEN RETURNED a few minutes later, they closed the door all but a crack—presumably leaving it open so they could hear if Hope woke up.

Phase one accomplished.

Onto phase two.

"What you were saying earlier," I began, "about needing to kill them horribly. That really isn't necessary. But I suppose slipping a lethal drug in someone's drink wouldn't have the same effect for the group, would it?"

"What— ?" May began.

"You're all in this together, right? You watch them die. You each play your part. Share the murder, share the horror and the guilt. A bond that's probably very hard to break. Must have made it really tough to convince them that Murray broke it, huh?"

May's gaze swung to mine.

"You remember Murray, don't you?" I continued. "He's right here."

I described Murray. Several of the group members paled, but May's face remained impassive.

"You don't believe me?" I said. "Ask him something. He can hear you."

"Remind her of the time—" Murray began.

"If Murray says I tricked the others into killing him, he's lying." She turned to Don. "You found that—"

"Realtor's card," I cut in.

"Card?" Murray sputtered. "What card?"

"Or so you told the group, Don," I said. "But there wasn't one, was there? It was May's idea. She convinced you that Murray really was planning to leave the group, but that you needed some solid evidence to convict him."

Don's expression answered.

"They lied?" Murray said. "I was killed for a lie?"

He continued raging, but I focused on Don. "May lied to you too. She wasn't convinced Murray was leaving. She thought he might, but it was only that—a possibility. What she saw, though, was the opportunity to cement your allegiance by making you an accomplice in Murray's murder. And, in killing Murray, she'd prove to the group that the pact was more than idle words. If they didn't believe the group would kill them, now they knew better."

"She'll say anything to save her friend," May said.

She lifted her hand to blow the ash at me. Don caught her wrist.

"Don't bother," I said. "You don't need that to cast magic. Or, should I say,
May
doesn't. Not that she was going to tell you that anytime soon. Better to keep you working for her, digging for better magic, killing for the group…"

They had all turned toward May. I searched for something else to say, to give that extra shove, then reconsidered before I overplayed my hand again.

So I waited as they moved toward May, blocking her in, questions rising, sharp with accusation. Then I began inching toward the door. Get out and lock it behind me.

One more step—

"Where do you think you're going?"

Tina swung into my path. I threw myself at her, fingers hooked, aiming for her eyes, but she moved at the last second and my nails scratched her cheek instead. She howled and doubled over. My knee flew up, aiming for her stomach—

Hands grabbed me and yanked me back. I twisted and struggled, but Don held me by the shoulders. He kicked my feet out from under me. As I fell, I saw May, pinned by the other men.

"Looks like we'll have a triple dose of new material," Tina said, wiping blood from her face as she bent over me. "Your parlor tricks don't interest me, Jaime Vegas. But if you and that girl are what you claim to be, that will add an extra boost to your remains, won't it? Truly magical ash."

I twisted in Don's grip, but he held me tight. Behind me, the men were taking turns casting the weakening spell on May. After the third, she slumped to the floor. And there, with her, went my chance to escape. I'd turned them against the only person in this room who valued my powers. The only one willing to let me live.

I looked about wildly, searching the room. My gaze went up to the light. If I had a spell, I could break it, plunge us into darkness and escape. If I was a werewolf, I could fight my way out. If I'd worn the damned heels, I could at least stab Don in the knees. If wishes were horses…

Damn it, Jaime. Focus on what you
do
have, on what you
can
do!

I look across the room to see Brendan and Murray frozen in helpless horror, watching as Don pinned me to the floor and gave orders to the others to douse May with gasoline.

"Brendan! Murray!" I shouted. "The door!"

Don frowned at me.

Murray's look said he didn't understand my plea any better than Don. "But the spell. We can't get out."

Brendan was already racing across the room. When he reached the door, he stopped short, as if hitting a physical barrier. Then he poked his fingers into the inch-wide gap. They passed through. He grinned.

"Good," I said. "Get out there and look for a ghost. A woman. My age. Long dark hair. Her name's Eve. Show her where I am."

As I spoke, Brendan shoved his shoulder against the crack, but it stopped, as if the breach in the spell was only as wide as that gap. He kept pushing. Murray strode over to help.

"She's stalling," Tina said. "Cast the spell, Don. At least it'll shut her up."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of ash.

Again, my gaze rose to the light. Then it shifted to that high shelf and stopped on a stuffed bat perched beside a legless dog. In my mind, I saw an image of the bird I'd accidentally raised in the garden.

But I couldn't. Not without tools. Not without time to prepare. Not without—

Don lifted his hand to his mouth, ash on his outstretched palm. He inhaled.

"Wait!" I said. "You want magic? I can give you the most powerful magic of all."

"She'll say anything—" Tina began.

"The power to raise the dead. I can do that."

"Really?" Tina's overplucked brows arched. "That'll come in handy in a few minutes… assuming you can do it to yourself."

She motioned for Don to continue with the spell, but he'd lowered his hand. The other men watched me. Seeing their expressions, I bit back a burst of hysterical laughter.

Communicating with the dead wasn't enough to sway their intentions. But to raise the dead? To play God? No matter how strongly logic told them it couldn't be done, they couldn't help hoping.

"It's a trick," Tina snapped. "Can't you see that? Now she'll tell us she needs a body, so we'll need to take her outside—"

"No, you won't." I waved at the ceiling. "Plenty of bodies here."

"And I suppose you want us to take one down, meaning we have to find a ladder, bring it back, give your friend time to recover—"

"I'll raise the bat. It has wings, right?" I flashed my best showbiz smile. "No need to be carried down when you can fly."

Even before the men agreed, I knew they would. Why not? In return for a few minutes' forbearance, I offered the possibility of a miracle. Who could refuse that?

Are you nuts
? my brain screamed.
Have you forgotten the minor fact that you can't do this without your equipment
?

But I could try. At the very least, I'd stall them for a while. Maybe Hope would wake. Or Jeremy would find my trail.

And if that's all I hope to do, that's all I'd accomplish. Forget stalling. My only option—the only one I'd accept—was success.

Just yesterday, raising Rachel Skye, I'd theorized that the power lay, not with the instruments, but within me. If I truly believed that, then it was time to put it to the test. Under the worst possible circumstances, but maybe that was just what I needed. Last year, in Toronto with the werewolves, I'd controlled zombies raised by someone else—a feat I'd said was impossible. But when I saw Elena's life at stake, I'd found the will and the power to do it.

Now there was another life at stake. Mine. And, for once, I was going to be the one to save it.

I closed my eyes and recited the incantation to call the dead back to their nearby bodies. In my mind, I pictured the ritual setup, envisioned myself kneeling before the symbols.

When the chant was finished, I didn't open my eyes to see whether it worked. Didn't even take a breath. Just repeated it. Then repeated it. Then—

"Oh, my God."

The reaction I'd been waiting for. I looked up to see the bat still perched there, motionless. But on an adjacent shelf, the crow's wing twitched.

"It's a trick," Tina sneered. "Even I can do that—like making a pencil levitate."

"Rawr!"

The crow had managed to push itself upright. Its head wobbled, as if its neck was broken. It threw back its head and let out another strangled caw.

"Mother of God," one of the men breathed.

Even Tina stared. Then she wheeled on me. "It's a trick. Somehow—"

A dog yipped. The terrier. Its head whipped from side to side, ears flapping, eyes wild as it tried to stand on legs it no longer had. I fought the urge to release it, sent up a silent apology, and started the invocation again.

The dog convulsed and twisted, its cries turned shrill with panic. On the adjoining shelf, the crow flapped its wings, its head still lolling, beak snapping.

A shriek. Four sets of eyes turned to see a raccoon dragging itself toward the edge…

"Oh, God, no," someone said. "Not that. It isn't—"

The raccoon toppled from the shelf as one of the men dove out of the way. It hit with a bone-crunching thud. For a moment, I blinked, certain I'd misidentified the creature. It was too small to be a—

The beast pulled itself onto its front legs, and I realized it was indeed a raccoon. Half of one. The rear quarters had been removed and a plastic shield had been affixed to the severed end, like an anatomy display.

The raccoon gnashed its teeth and rolled back onto its torso, claws waving as it struggled to get up. Above it, the dog twisted, snapping and snarling, frenzied now.

"Oh, God, what have you done?" one of the men breathed.

"Why, I've brought the dead back to life. I've performed a miracle."

The raccoon fell forward and started pulling itself along on its front legs. It snarled at Tina. When she fell back with a scream, it advanced on Don. He backpedaled out of the way.

"M-miracle?" Don said. "Th-this is an abomination. Stop it right now."

"Stop?" I smiled. "I'm just getting started."

I looked across their faces. In their terror, I saw my true power. The darkest power. The greatest power.

I closed my eyes and shouted the invocation, calling the dead back to their bodies. Someone yelled for Don to cast the weakening spell. Fingers wrapped around my arm. As I yanked away, my attacker reeled backward, grip loosening.

A black blur flashed over his head. The crow, swooping. Then another blur and a high-pitched shriek as the bat flew into Tina. She screamed, arms flailing.

"Kill it! Someone kill it! Kill all of them!"

"Oh, you've already done that," I said. "Once they pass over, they're mine, and you can't do a damn thing about it. Go ahead. Swat that bat. Throw it into the wall if you'd like. You can't kill it. It's already dead."

Another scream, this time from one of the men as the raccoon's teeth sank into his leg. As he shook it, the plastic plate flew off and the raccoon's preserved innards slid out. The man screamed louder, gaze riveted on the mangled beast.

"You wanted magic!" I said. "You killed for it. Well, here's magic. The most powerful kind there is."

The crow swooped past me and flew into Don, who let out a shriek.

"Isn't it everything you imagined?" I yelled to be heard over the din. "And just think. When you die, I can do this to you. Bring your mangled, rotting corpse back to life, with you in it, stuck there for eternity."

I shouted the incantation again. A body tumbled from the shelf. Then another, the air rent with yowls and screeches and screams. I ran for the door. It was half-open now, as if someone had tried to make a break for it. A quick head count as I wheeled proved no one had escaped.

I yanked open the door, spun around and slammed it shut. A body hit the other side. I threw myself against the door, fingers flying to the lock. One twist and it was closed.

My gaze snagged on the light switch for the room. I flicked it off.

Judgment

I LOOKED AROUND FOR HOPE, but she was nowhere to be seen. I ran through the TV room. Still no sign of her. How far could they have taken her?

As I raced into the hall, legs appeared on the stairway. I froze, fanatically searching for a weapon or another escape route.

"Jaime?"

A second set of legs passed the first and I recognized Jeremy's shoes, moving swiftly and soundlessly down the stairs. As soon as he was low enough, he ducked, saw me and nodded. There was no expression on his face, but I could see the relief in his eyes.

He swung around the bottom step and caught my arm, ready to whisk me upstairs without a word, but Karl stepped into our path.

"Where's Hope?" he demanded.

I opened my mouth to answer, but wasn't fast enough for him and he took those last few steps in a stride, looming over me, eyes blazing. I instinctively stepped back, but Jeremy's arm around my back stopped me.

"I—I don't know. They took her out of the room and I—"

"And you what?" he snarled, any remaining wisps of the sophisticated mask falling away.

"Karl."

Jeremy's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it stopped the other man short.

"I was looking for her," I hurried on. "She's unconscious and tied up, and they brought her in here, out of the way, but I can't find—"

His head whipped up, nostrils flaring. A slow pivot. Then he strode across the room and yanked open a closet. There, on the floor, was Hope. When Karl started to lift her, Jeremy moved up behind him and leaned down to whisper, "We don't have time. Just move her to another room."

Karl hesitated.

Jeremy said, "We can finish this now. She'll be safe then."

Karl lifted Hope, then turned to me. "Describe the room. Exits. Weapons. How many people? What kind of—?"

Jeremy motioned for him to slow down and look after Hope first. He took her into another room. When he returned, I'd already explained everything. Then Jeremy came up with a plan.

JEREMY STUDIED my face, not asking "are you okay with this?" but looking for the answer. I nodded, then turned my attention back to the door. My heart was thumping so loud I was sure Jeremy and Karl could hear it, but they gave no sign, just waited in their places—Karl behind the door, Jeremy on the other side of the opening.

As I turned the lock, Karl slid his foot against the base of the door, then looked at me. When I nodded, he eased his foot back an inch and I cracked open the door. It was like walking into a horror movie—a soundtrack of human screams and babbling mixed with the enraged and garbled cries of the zombie beasts.

Something—or someone—hit the door, the jolt hard enough to make me jump, but the door didn't move, Karl's foot and hand blocking it.

I closed my eyes and cast the incantation to return those poor souls to wherever they'd come from. I kept casting until the screams—human and beast—dropped to sobs and muted cries.

Then I jumped back. Jeremy swung around the doorway, Karl following. I cast the release incantation one last time as they disappeared into the darkness. Then I slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

I WAS supposed to wait outside the door for fifteen minutes, then unlock it. As I stood there, I tried very hard not to picture what was happening inside the killing room. At least it would be easy to clean up the carnage afterward. I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms.

As I moved, I caught the whisper of muffled voices, pleading. I rubbed my arms harder, torn between wanting to retreat to someplace where I couldn't overhear and wanting to put my ear to the door, to reassure myself the screams and pleading weren't coming from Jeremy or Karl. I might not care for Karl Marsten, but I didn't want to see the man killed.

A thump sounded above me. I started, then strained to listen, but heard nothing. Even the killing room had gone quiet. Another thud, definitely overhead.

Jeremy would have cleared the upper levels, but did that mean they were still clear? Two group members had apparently skipped the emergency meeting. Or were they just late?

A board creaked. I glanced at the door, but my watch said I had eight minutes to go, and I wasn't opening it one second sooner. Nor was I going to cower here and wait to be discovered by an intruder.

I was in the small TV room, the door to the killing room normally hidden behind a wall hanging. I looked around for a potential weapon. A book? A lamp? A picture? I was about to laugh at the last, when I stopped. Picture. Picture frame. Glass.

I grabbed an old eight-by-ten sepia photograph from the shelf and smashed it against the television cabinet. As I reached for the biggest shard, I saw my bare hand. I yanked off my shoe, removed my sock, then put my shoe back on… and the sock on my hand. It looked ridiculous, but it was better than sliced fingertips. I picked up the shard with my "gloved" hand, then started for the hall.

I was almost at the top of the steps when I heard another soft thump. I pinpointed the direction and followed, creeping through the kitchen toward what looked like a living room. As I edged along the kitchen cabinets, a blur flew across the doorway.

I backpedaled. Another thump. Then something moved by the base of the doorway. A fat calico tabby peered out. The cat looked at me, then at the glass in my hand.

Great. The one time I'm prepared—weapon and all—and my opponent is an overfed house cat.

As I turned to head back, the doorway darkened.

"Hello, Jaime."

May stood at the top of the stairs.

How—? I pictured the half-open door. When I'd counted heads, I hadn't checked for May, presuming she was still unconscious on the floor.

Apparently I hadn't been the only one who'd taken advantage of the cacophony to escape.

She spoke again, but her next words made no sense. I struggled to understand, then realized they weren't in English. A spell. As I tensed, ready to dive out of the spell's path, I felt a sharp edge biting into my fingertips. The glass!

I ran at May, my hand raised. Her brows knitted, the spell dying in her throat as she stared in bewilderment at the sock sailing toward her. Then her eyes went wide, seeing the glass. Too late. I slashed and laid open her cheek. Blood sprayed. She stumbled back. I kicked, hoping to knock her down the stairs, but my aim was off.

May lunged at me. I swung the glass again, but this time only caught the side of her blouse. The glass snagged and flew from my fingers. As May veered toward me, the glass fell onto a throw rug.

I dove for it, but May cast a spell and something hit me, like in the garden, knocking me sideways. As I regained my balance, May caught me by the back of the shirt. I twisted sharply and pulled free.

I scrambled for the glass shard. She hit me with another spell, this one knocking the wind from my lungs. I blacked out for a split second, then came to as May grabbed my shirt again, yanking me off balance.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jaime," she said.

"Just kidnap me, right?" I wriggled in her grasp, not fighting, just getting my footing. "Well, you know what? I'm a little tired of being kidnapped."

I swung my fist and hit her square in the jaw. As she released me, I dove for the glass. My fingers wrapped around it and I was turning, flying back to my feet when a shape passed to my left. I wheeled to . see Eve holding what looked like… a sword. A very big sword.

I shook off my surprise and dove at May, shard raised, aiming for her throat. But Eve's sword was in flight, sailing toward May, whose gaze was fixed on me, lips drawn back, pushing to her feet. Before I could reach her, the sword cleaved through her torso. She reeled, mouth working as she clutched the left side of her chest.

She tottered. Then she collapsed.

There was no blood. No mark on her body. Yet she didn't move.

"Is she…?"

"She better be," Eve said. "Or this baby needs a recharge."

I struggled from the cloud of shock and turned to Eve. "I didn't need to be rescued."

"Sorry, but my sword outranks your…" she glanced at my hand, "sock puppet."

"It's a glass shard," I said, lifting it.

Her lips twitched. "Ah." A pause and she sobered. "You're right, Jaime. You had her, and maybe I should have let you take her down, but this?" She lifted the sword. "Less messy. In more ways than one."

She lay down the weapon as May's spirit began to separate from her body.

I stared at the sword. It was at least four feet long and inscribed with symbols. As the metal glowed, I remembered stories my Nan had told me of necromancers at executions or deaths of criminals, seeing spirits bearing glowing swords, come to claim the souls. The Sword of Judgment. Not a weapon wielded by just any ghost.

"You're a—an—" I couldn't get the word out. "The job you do for the Fates. You're an… angel?"

"Maybe." She winked. "Or maybe I just swiped the sword."

She grabbed May's silent spirit by the shoulders, yanked her free and disappeared.

I stood there, staring at the spot where they'd vanished. Then I heard a thump. I glanced toward the living room, expecting to see the cat again. The noise came again, from downstairs, I was late for an appointment.

THE KILLING room was remarkably clean. I guess I should have known that. Jeremy and Karl didn't need to Change into wolves. Part of being such efficient killers was knowing how to kill efficiently.

Four bodies lay in the room, all with broken necks. The only blood came from Karl's nose. Elbowed in the melee. He gave Jeremy a few seconds to examine it, then hurried to Hope.

Once Jeremy discovered May was dead, and I was fine, it was time to consider body disposal. He knew more about crime-scene cleanup than anyone should. He'd said before that it was a necessary "skill" for the Alpha—when he sent Clayton and Elena to stop a man-killing mutt, they often had to clean up. As Alpha, though, he would only need to teach the skills. Yet watching him that day, I remembered what he'd said about having to cover his father's kills.

Whatever my mother had done to me, it paled in comparison to that.

BEFORE THEY removed the bodies, Jeremy checked on Hope too. As I waited in the hall, Eve returned with Kristof.

"Got a couple of bodies for us to look after too, I see," she said.

She waved through the doorway into the TV room, where Brendan and Murray waited, quiet, lost in their thoughts. I explained. When I finished, I headed over to Brendan.

"Ready to go?" I asked.

"I—" He blinked, dazed, as if the fact of his death was only hitting him now, after he'd escaped the room where he'd died. "I guess so."

"I'll take him," Kristof said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He walked to the young man, his hand outstretched. "Brendan, isn't it?"

He shook Kristof's hand. "Y-yes, sir."

"Kristof." He put his arm around the boy's shoulders and led him from the room. "Is there anyplace you'd like to visit before we go, Brendan?"

Their voices faded as they headed up the stairs. Eve walked to Murray, who sprang off the sofa.

"There are some places I'd like to visit," he said. "See my wife one last time and—"

"You should have thought of that before you butchered six kids," Eve said. "Judgment awaits, and it's getting impatient."

"B-but I helped you guys. Ask—"

He tried to turn toward me, but Eve grabbed his arm.

"Take it up with the Fates."

As they disappeared, Jeremy stepped into the room. "Jaime? Time to go."

JEREMY HAD Karl take Hope and me to her apartment, then he returned to help Jeremy finish the cleanup. During those two hours we spent alone, Hope didn't say a word about what had happened. Instead she worked to make a big meal, as if feeding the men when they returned was mission critical.

When the men did arrive, Jeremy ate, but it seemed more out of politeness than hunger. Then we left. On the way to the car, I said, "So you could follow my trail from the house? I wasn't sure you could."

He hesitated, and I knew he was considering whether to lie, then shook his head and said, "There wasn't a trail. They must have driven you over."

"So how did you know… ?" I let the sentence trail off and dug the rune sketch from my pocket. "This?"

"A magical homing device?" He smiled. "I wish it was that simple. I sensed you, as I do sometimes with the Pack. I could tell you were in trouble, came back, found that you and Hope were gone. Then I found you. Somehow."

I fingered the rune.

He shook his head. "Clay and Elena don't carry the ones I did for them, and I've never done any for the rest of the Pack. "Whatever let me find you, it's not a piece of paper."

"Well, then, you won't mind if I have it made into a necklace, right? Or, all things considered, maybe a tattoo."

He smiled and pulled me into a kiss.