Authors: Judith Post
Tags: #urban fantasy, #fantasy, #witches, #demons, #necromancer, #shapeshifters, #voodoo, #shifters
Prosper tried the door. It creaked open.
Babet swallowed hard. Her breath caught in
her throat. Were the witches inside? She did a quick scan. Nothing
moved. The church looked empty—like it had been for years. Dead
leaves, blown in through a hole in a corner of the roof, littered
the far side of the long, narrow room. A nest sat on one darkened
rafter. Dust motes danced in the light spilling through the side
windows. A fine layer of dirt covered everything but a circle,
swept off, in the middle of the brick floor.
Babet put a hand to her lips, grimacing. The
circle was drawn with cat skins, woven together. In its center,
dried blood had seeped into the brick floor, staining it. Cat and
rodent teeth were scattered inside. Chicken feet lay heaped in a
pile. Black magic.
Morgana whipped her neck forward to hit
Babet’s leg. Babet jumped, then frowned at her. The snake bobbed
her head toward the street.
“Is someone coming?” Prosper asked.
Morgana nodded.
They didn’t need to know more. They let
themselves out a back door that locked behind them and disappeared
into a nearby alley. Babet whispered a chant, and a breeze blew
away their scent. Shadows engulfed them. They heard voices and
yowls. Babet strained forward to see. A man and four women matched
strides as they approached the church. Celeste Moonbeam’s
white-blond hair shone under the street lamps. Two other witches
that Babet didn’t know accompanied her. The red-haired witch
carried a burlap bag. Bumps writhed, hissing and fighting inside
it.
Babet squinted, trying to see better in the
gloom. The man was tall and whipcord thin, dressed completely in
black. His head was shaved and covered with tattoos. In the
flickering light, it looked almost as if the inked drawings
moved.
The five people hurried up the steps and
inside the building. Lights danced and darted as candles were lit.
Babet flipped her cell open. She called her mother, then
Vittorio.
Voices rose in a chant. Darkness thickened
around the church, heavy and oppressive, almost a living presence.
Babet bit her bottom lip as she listened to the witches’ words. The
stink of black magic grew stronger. Four arms rose high enough to
see them through the clear, side windows. Each hand held a knife.
When the chant reached fever pitch, the arms plunged down. Cats
screeched in final death cries. Then silence. The ceremony was
over. Babet knew what came next. The women would sprinkle the cats’
blood inside the circle. Then they’d skin the bodies and weave the
new skins into the old, to increase the circle’s strength. What
they did with the bodies, she had no idea.
She glanced at her watch nervously. If the
coven didn’t get here soon, the black service would be over, and
the necromancer would go home with his witches.
She fidgeted. Prosper shot out an arm and
gripped her wrist. He shook his no. A warning. To challenge them
would be a suicide mission. She forced herself to be still.
The candle flames went out inside the church.
When they left the building, a fifth woman walked with them. Her
pitch-black, straight hair fell almost to her waist. She stood as
tall as Prosper. Helia Chanter—one of most infamous witches in
history.
The group barely made it to the street when a
flash of magic shot out and hit Helia in the forehead. She crumpled
to the pavement, dead again. Mom and the coven stepped from the
shadows of nearby buildings.
Babet sighed her relief. They’d killed Helia
before she could reach her full power. No such luck with the other
four witches. They pressed their bodies in front of the
necromancer’s, forming a shield to protect him. Babet was about to
go to join the others when Prosper stopped her again. He pointed.
Evangeline had taken her place, standing beside Perdita. Before
Babet could make up her mind what to do next, blasts of magic shot
back and forth.
At a signal from her mother, the witches
separated into groups of three, and each group concentrated on a
particular one of the dark witches. Even with the odds of three
against one, her mom’s witches were struggling.
Celeste Moonbeam swept her hand in a
semi-circle, and a blaze of energy sprayed the area in front of
her. Perdita gasped and grasped her right arm. It hung uselessly by
her side. With a laugh, Celeste aimed for Evangeline.
Babet stepped forward. A white, hot ball shot
from her palms. It slammed Celeste in the back, knocking her off
her feet. It would have killed most witches, but Celeste quickly
sprang up again. This time, she stood sideways, ready to aim in
both directions—toward Evangeline and Babet. Suddenly, she whipped
both hands together, forefingers pointing like a gun. A spark of
lightning hit Evangeline’s shoulder. The wound smoldered, and
Evangeline whimpered.
Babet could feel fury build inside her—mixed
magic. When she unleashed it, a blast as tall and wide as Celeste
herself engulfed the witch. When the glare faded, Celeste held out
a hand to balance herself. She looked emaciated, drained, and Babet
realized her father’s powers had joined with her mother’s to make a
lethal combination. Before she could blast Celeste again, a body
leapt from a rooftop and sped toward the witch. Fangs down, a
vampire ripped out Celeste’s throat. Another witch, dead.
Tamber Grisly snapped her fingers, and the
vampire flew across the street, slamming into a building. He sagged
to the ground. Not real dead, but unconscious.
Tamber turned to face Babet, while Hennie
worked with Babet’s mother to make a lasso of magic. It whirled
overhead and settled over Tamber’s shoulders. The red-haired witch
cackled, enjoying herself. She tossed up her fingers, and the lasso
rose in the air and dropped over Hennie.
Babet rushed to her mother’s side, and
together, they raised their arms and flung energy at Tamber. The
witch chuckled as she dodged one spell after another. Evangeline
made a cutting gesture and the blazing rope sagged to the ground
and disappeared, freeing Hennie. She went to stand beside her,
shooing Perdita behind them, out of harm’s way. Babet glanced at
the other witches in their coven. Two were sprawled on the cement,
alive or dead, she couldn’t tell. The witches squared off against
each other again, but before anyone could act, mists burst into the
area. They settled over the black witches, so thick, they couldn’t
see. Faces formed, whispering insults into the enemies’ ears.
Tamber cried a spell, but witch magic had
little effect on voodoo spirits. Babet saw Manette’s misty face
press nose to nose with Tamber’s, mocking her. On the edge of the
mists, Babet saw the necromancer take a few steps back, edging
toward a gap between buildings. He meant to flee into hiding until
he knew he was safe. One step more, and shadows moved in the dark
alleys. Red eyes glowed. Vampires lay in wait. The necromancer
moved closer to his witches.
Babet used the moment of confusion to text
Vittorio. If she and the coven could keep the black witches busy,
she had an idea that just might work. Tamber screamed a chant, and
winds came to blow the mists away. Angry, the red-haired witch
raised both palms, shooting snaps of lightning in every
direction.
Babet threw up a protective shield. It
wouldn’t last long against Tamber’s sheer strength, but it gave her
enough time to shoot a straight, solid blast at the witch. It hit
her in the chest and made her stagger. Tamber’s eyes widened in
shock. Then her lips twisted into a snarl. She barely began to
chant before she jerked with surprise and kicked her right foot out
in pain. She and Babet looked down at the same time. Morgana was
slithering away as fast as she could after biting Tamber’s ankle.
Purple was already discoloring swollen veins.
Tamber aimed for the snake, but Babet knocked
her off balance again with a blast of heat. It hit and raised a
welt. Tamber narrowed her eyes, studying her opponents. Babet
darted a glance at the other witches. Four of her mom’s coven were
locked in battle with a witch Babet couldn’t identify. Their
energies met between them and couldn’t move forward or backward.
When the witch’s black power began to creep toward them, a huge,
brown bear hit her from behind, slashed his claws across her neck,
and nearly beheaded her.
Tamber screamed her anger. She tossed her
arms into the air to call for a curse. Babet whipped energy at her
and bound her hands together. Lips pressed tightly together, eyes
bulging, Tamber jerked her arms free, but Prosper was hidden in
shadows again, safe. So was Morgana.
Tamber squared her shoulders. Mom, Babet, and
Evangeline did the same. They took steps closer to each other, and
power erupted like fireworks. Blasts of light flew skyward, smacked
into buildings, and left dents and holes. When it all settled, all
four witches were still standing. But this time, Tamber was
panting, nearly exhausted. Vittorio plummeted to earth behind her
and sank his fangs into the necromancer’s throat. He gulped a long
draught, and the man fell to his knees. Vittorio had timed it
perfectly, just as Babet had suggested. If Tamber turned to defend
her master, Babet would skewer her with magic. If she didn’t, she’d
die anyway. After all, the necromancer was the witches’ energy
source. Without him, she’d sag to the ground.
“Wait!” Tamber held out a hand to stop the
vampire. “If you spare Osman, I’ll tell you where your friend is.
He still lives.”
Chin bloody, Vittorio raised his head to
study her. “No, I’ll make you a deal. Tell me where Jesus is, and
I’ll bury your body at a crossroads. Someday, if you get lucky,
someone might summon you again. If you don’t help me, I’ll burn
your corpse, and you’ll be no more.”
“I put a curse…”
Before she could finish, Vittorio sucked more
blood from the necromancer. Tamber fell to her knees, too weak to
stand. The last witch still standing cried, “The abandoned liquor
store on Fourth Street. Bury me. You promised.”
“If you’re telling the truth.” Vittorio bit
deeper and drained the necromancer. When he released him, the man
fell forward, nothing but a husk. Prosper strode forward and
slashed across his neck. His head rolled free. No one wanted to
fight a new vampire with necromancer powers. This way, Osman would
stay dead.
Both of his witches collapsed. Dead, too.
Prosper shifted back to his mortal form,
wondrously naked, but no one cared. He looked at the bodies
littering the street. “What should we do with them?”
Vittorio motioned to his friends, who stepped
from the shadows. “We’ll take them somewhere to burn. All but the
one. I’ll keep my word.”
Prosper frowned. “You’ve done this
before?”
“Vampires, upon occasion, are forced to
dispose of dead bodies.”
Prosper shrugged. “It’s not like anyone’s
looking for witches who died in the Dark Ages. And I have no idea
where the necromancer came from. If you can make the bodies
disappear, we can sweep this whole mess under the bayou.”
Vittorio looked at Babet. “Will you help me
find Jesus first?”
She gave a quick nod, and they headed toward
Fourth Street, where the boarded up liquor store was. Prosper came
too. They’d passed it twice today. She handed her mother the agate
before she left.
Mom and Hennie were busy, trying to pour
white magic into their fallen friends to help heal them.
When they reached the shop, Vittorio paused
with his hand on the doorknob before pushing it open. “How bad will
it be?”
“Tamber made the Spanish Inquisition look
nice.” Babet’s stomach churned, already queasy. She tried to think
positive thoughts, but dreaded what she was about to see, hoped she
wouldn’t get sick.
“If he’s bad, can you heal him?”
“I’ll try.”
All three of them froze when they opened the
door and saw Jesus, spread eagle and duct taped to a wall. Prosper
put his hands on Babet’s shoulders, trying to comfort her. She
squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she’d never seen what she
did. A strangled sound escaped Vittorio. He rushed to his
friend.
“P….ease…” Jesus couldn’t talk, not after
what Tamber had done to him. “Fin….me.”
Vittorio plunged his fangs into someone for a
second time. But this was a mercy killing. When he took the last
sip, Jesus crumbled into dust. Babet called for a breeze to blow
his ashes away.
Vittorio stared as his friend’s remains flew
skyward. He ran a hand through his beautiful, long hair. “Thank
you.” He looked at Babet in disbelief. “For everything. Does this
make us friends?” He glanced at Prosper. “Our kind doesn’t do well
with Weres and witches.”
Babet sighed. “Not friends, but allies. If
you need us, call.”
“Likewise.” Vittorio straightened his
posture, took a deep breath. “I’ll go back to help Leam. He hit the
wall really hard, but vampires heal fast. I guess you learn who you
can count on in times like these, right?”
Babet turned to Prosper. “We should go back
too. The coven will want to know what happened.”
Prosper nodded, took her hand, and started
for the door. Babet shook her head. “Do you keep spare clothes in
your car for when you shift?”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. Why?
Am I distracting you?” He was trying for a playful tone. It was
laced with too many other emotions—anger, hurt, a little despair.
He’d seen a lot as a detective, but nothing like this, she
knew.
She laced her arm through his and moved
close. They could both use a shoulder to lean on tonight. “Come on,
big guy. I’ll walk you to your car.”
He smiled. “And when all of this is
over?”
“I’ll pour you a stiff shot of bourbon and
sleep curled against you all night.”
He sighed. “There was a time when that would
have been disappointing, but tonight, it sounds just about
perfect.”
They started to his car, and then the coven,
and then home. This time, it would take them both some time to
recuperate.