Host

Chapter 3

I climbed into a restorative bath and settled into the bottom of the tub with a sigh of purely human pleasure. In the nearest window, the lunar curve brightened a snaking mist that rested along the ground and above the hollows, the black shadows of trees following the hump of hills against the night sky. It was beautiful, almost surreal; no artist's rendition of nighttime could come close to the reality of the mountain sky at midnight.
Not even the moon over the Gulf of Mexico was as lovely. Though I was certain no one at the New Orleans Enclave, where I had been born and raised - where I had spent the first fourteen years of my life, ten of them in stone mage training, and savage-chi and savage-blade training (the martial arts developed by the first neomages) - would agree. I would never see a Louisiana moon rise again. I was forever barred from Enclave due to the unlucky perversity of being mentally open to all the mage-minds present -
The thought vanished. I saw in memory a nugget of snowflake obsidian tossed at me, its leather cord flipping through the air. I hadn't realized it when I removed my necklace for the bath, but Cheran hadn't jumped back into my mind when the nugget of volcanic glass was no longer in contact with my flesh. Just having it near me now shut Cheran out of my mind. Was the amulet's conjure spreading through me? And if so, what else might it be doing to me?
Dripping bathwater, I reached for the steel necklace of chain-mail links that secured my amulets. I had several new ones, conjures as yet untried, dangerous things I hoped I would never need. With wet fingers, I shifted through them all and lifted the rounded obsidian nugget Cheran had brought. Though I had looked into the incantation with my mage-senses, studying both the internal composition of the glass and as much of the conjure it contained as I could, I wasn't sure yet exactly what it could do.
The amulet contained a conjure crafted just for me, a sort of semiprime amulet, one created by my old teachers at Enclave without access to my genetic material; I knew it was powerful, and that it was still settling into my psyche with far greater ease than I would have liked. That ease demonstrated that I was open and very vulnerable to certain types of incantations. That part I didn't like. But the part about keeping other mages out of my mind...
A shiver raced over my skin, half fear, half unhealthy excitement. If the amulet held true to keeping one mage out of my mind, could it, just maybe, keep out all twelve hundred mages at the New Orleans Enclave that had sent Cheran? I turned the wire-wrapped bauble I had tied to my necklace. Drops plinked from my fingers to the bathwater. Could I, maybe, go home again? The word echoed in the silence of my mind.
Home. To Enclave? If that warm, muggy, sultry place was home. Or is home here, in the life I've built?
I could go...home. I tested the word on my tongue.
I dropped the Apache Tear to the table and it rattled softly on the old wood where I kept my oils and unguents and bath salts. Apache Tear. It seemed an apt name.
Releasing control over my mage-attributes, I relaxed totally, my skin glowing in the bathwater, pinkish and coral, warm tints. My scars glowed brighter, a fierce white tracery. Fingers drawn to the one wound that hadn't completely healed, I traced the site on my left side where the spur of Darkness had pierced me. It was better. Almost gone. In human vision it was a dull bruise, in mage-sight, it was worse, but healing. Definitely healing. And the spur itself was safe in a pocket of my battle cloak. My throat, I couldn't see except in a mirror. It was all new tissue, blazing white when my mage-attributes were set free.
I slipped deeper into the water, looking around at the loft where I had lived for so many years. I had moved here soon after my foster father died, his estate leaving me just enough money to buy the old, decrepit two-story building. It had been bare stone and brick walls three feet thick, splintered boards underfoot. The loft had rough beams overhead, empty windows, abandoned birds' nests in the rafters. Downstairs, in the shop, it had been worse, the floor rotten in places, the pressed tin ceiling rusted, the walls filthy and covered in graffiti.
I'd had washerwoman's hands for the entire year it took my friends and me to renovate the building. It was mine, in every sense of the word. Going back to Enclave would mean leaving...home. The bath was suddenly less than restful and I stood, splashing water as I stepped from the antique, claw-footed tub to the turquoise tile and threw a robe on. I had laid the tile myself. Rupert had restored the tub for me. It had been a birthday present. There was no way I could take it with me....
The soft velvet reminded me of Cheran's cloak. And reminded me that he wasn't the only hedonistic mage in the area. The robe was new, a gift left at the shop's front door, folded in a brown bag. There hadn't been a tag, but the scent of seraph had proven it a gift from Raziel. The smell of chocolate still clung to the iridescent teal fabric, and it added conflict to the emotions sparring in my heart. I stroked the velvet. Mage-heat quivered low in my belly each time I wore it. I wondered if the seraph had thought about the fabric against my naked skin when he picked it out. Unholy thoughts. Wicked feelings. Ideas and hopes I would surely never have a chance to work through - or possibly experience - if I returned to Enclave, to my people. I would never see the seraph again.
Eyes closed, I breathed in the scent and sighed as the pleasure increased. And more than merely pleasure. Thoughts of naked carousing with one of the angelic Host were never far from the surface of my mind these days, though most times I could control the images. Most times. Well, when I wanted to. Which wasn't often enough.
I set the amulets over my head. Though thoughts were relatively safe, acting on them could get me into trouble, like being dragged before the town fathers or the seraphic high council - and death by various means, all of them protracted and painful. But they could only kill me once, as I had grown fond of reminding myself.
Of course, unlike humans, neomages had no souls, so perhaps I had more to lose than most folk. For us, death was permanent, no hope of resurrection, paradise, and better things to come. However, such wonderful scents as my robe reminded me that the adverse was also true. There was no hell or damnation for us either.
Religion and politics, sex and death. "Lovely bedtime thoughts," I murmured as I looked around the teal and cream bower I had made for myself. I had chosen the antique kitchen table, had handpicked each of the old wooden chairs that surrounded it. Had sanded the floors and refinished them. Had hung each of the tapestries. And I loved my sofa and the carved, upholstered rocker.
Unsettled, I lifted the marble sphere by my bed and set the ward on the loft and shop, drawing stored power from the energy sink at the spring out back. Like magic. But neomages don't use magic as humans understand it. We use the leftover energies of creation, the particles Einstein postulated about in his famous equations. Which meant that mages are bound in many ways to the laws of physics.
Even back before neomages, humans knew that mass and energy are inseparably linked to each other, both having the luxon impulse as the base of their definition. They knew that each "matter with rest mass" consists of particles with light velocity. That means: every particle of matter and every particle of energy consists of luxons. Matter and energy are one thing in different stages. Humans used this knowledge to create weapons, atomic bombs whose explosions blast atoms apart. Mages draw upon luxons to create safety, health, and beauty. Most of the time. Not always. But the luxons that made up the incantation protecting my home were a good thing. A very good thing.
I drank a glass of spring water, turned down the gas flames on the fireplaces, put on warm pajamas with pink hearts on them, turned out the lights, and went to bed early.
Deep in the night, the lynx screamed, drawing me back from a dream of dying at seraph hands. I woke, shattering the images of death and destruction as the cry echoed, rocking across the hills, a deep vibrato of warning. I lay in the dark, breathing fast, mage-sight on, searching out the cause of the alarm. My ward was still on, the loft was safe, walls glowing with protective power. I didn't smell smoke, or hear people screaming, or scent blood.
The predator cat had entered my life only weeks ago, but had instantly become an omen, a portent, issuing a warning whenever trouble was headed my way. I closed down my sight and opened a mind-skim, drawing air and sensation into my lungs. Still nothing. Maybe the blasted cat was wrong this time. Or maybe it was finally reacting to whatever mage properties made animals go seriously wacko when in the vicinity of neomages for too long.
I eased the amulet necklace over my head and gripped my tanto - a long-bladed knife with a simple hilt and crossguard. I was small enough that it worked as a shortsword. Skin prickling, I stole from the bed on sock-covered feet and padded through the loft, checking each window and door, staring out the window where the moon had shone. The sky was now deep black, full of stars, the hills below a murky, smudged shadow.
Behind me, the door sprang open, banging hard. I whirled and rushed it, tanto swinging up. I recognized the shadow in the last instant and whipped aside the blade before I stabbed Rupert. He stood in the opening, chest naked, black hair standing up on one side. He was wild-eyed, his skin sheet-creased. "Thorn," he said, his tone peculiar.
"I nearly killed you!"
"In the street," he said, his words sleep-slurred. "It's Gramma."
Mage-fast, I pivoted and raced through the loft, shutting off the protective ward, grabbing my longsword, and leaving the walking-stick sheath behind as I sprinted to the front of the apartment and out onto the frozen porch over the sidewalk. The sickle moon rode high in the sky, throwing cold light on the old woman in the ice-slick street. Dressed in a summer frock, lilacs on white, wattles of flesh hanging from her bare arms. One clenched a child tight against her, and she held a blade at the girl's throat.
"Cissy," I whispered. It was Jacey's nine-year-old daughter, hair loose on her shoulders, nightgown fluttering in the cold breeze. In the dark of the night, Gramma's crazed eyes met mine. Mage-sight slammed on, and I saw a flash of dull orange flecked with shards of glowing black in her irises, like coals banked beneath ashes. The blade she held was demon-iron, and it wasn't burning her hand. Bloody plagues.
"Gramma," Rupert said softly at my back, the word slurred.
"It's not her," I said. I hoped he knew it, because I was about to have to kill the old witch. "It's a glamour," I said, one that looked like the Stanhope matriarch.
"Gramma," he whispered, joining me at the rail, his flesh tight with goose bumps.
"No!" I insisted. Leaving him on the porch, I sped down the stairs and unlocked the door. I ran into the street. Silently, Audric appeared at my side and followed me into the still night. The cold bit into my feet, my socks sticking and ripping from the ice with each step. Stupid, stupid, stupid to not stop for shoes.
I drew on my two prime amulets, the bloodstone hilt and the seven-layered stone prime ring, to warm my feet. To fight the cold, I allowed my mage attributes to blaze on, my flesh glowing a pearly roseate hue. It was easier for the beast to see me, but it would also help keep me warm. Taking my lead, Audric's less-vibrant glow brightened the night.
The smell of decaying leaves, rotting roses, and stagnant water filled the air, sour and cloying. I knew that scent. It was a succubus, a sexual demon that appeared in the form of a woman, enticed human males, had sex with them, and then ate them. From the privates up. And I knew this scent. It was specific to the succubus queen, the mother of all unholy sexual desires. It enticed by conjure.
Gramma, though not my idea of a sexually alluring female, was having an effect on Rupert, who watched from the porch; he was panting in fear and need. The beast saw me across ten yards of rutted snow. For a moment, scales slid over its skin like foam on the beach, the glamour of the old woman giving way to the true form beneath. It cackled, and when it spoke, it talked in Gramma's voice. "Little mage. This child is mine to kill or save, yet her life is in your hands. A boon, and she will be set free."
The last time I was this close to the succubus queen, it was newly born, only a month old, cocky and bragging with a teenager's fragile ego, easy to manipulate. Now it looked deadly. The succubus pressed the edge of the blade against the girl's throat. Cissy stared at me in horror, gasping. Her skin darkened at the touch of the demon-iron as the metal burned into living flesh.
Audric moved counterclockwise, placing his bare feet firmly with each step, his blades in the swan. This was the beast that had nearly killed him, the thing I had left him to fight alone. He still hadn't told me about that fight. There were lots of secrets resting uneasily between us, unspoken. "The entrance to the hellhole was sealed," he said. "How did it get out?"
I shook my head. I didn't know. I moved clockwise, away from the shop, feet freezing.
"You bound it once," Audric said softly, his face hard. "Can you use that?"
Gramma ignored him, eyes locked on mine. "Send a child of Mole Man to me and I will release her. My word. You may even choose the one you would sacrifice."
"I don't know," I said just as softly. I wasn't going to bet on it. The partial binding hadn't held for long last time.
All succubi were dangerous, but the adolescent queen was doubly so. It could reason and make independent decisions, and it was capable of breeding other succubi. Once, it had taken orders from Forcas, the Power who lived on the Trine, but that beast had been burned in battle dire, meaning the big ugly sucker was the next best thing to dead. Its boss, the Dragon, was stuck between realities, but maybe the Dragon had found another beast willing to risk everything in return for a bit of Dragon power and appreciation. Unless things had changed, the Dragon's freedom required Stanhope blood to finish the job.
As I watched, the creature seemed to grow, its form expanding, its glamour slipping and slithering across its body. The smell of sex-demon blossomed out, fetid and cloying. While not able to transmogrify - to restructure their energies into almost any physical body - powerful minions of the Dark often appeared physically attractive to humans. Not so this Darkness. Though once it had been able to assume and maintain the shape of its victims, it seemed to have lost that ability. Or maybe it felt it no longer needed camouflage. The queen was all about being a BBU, which could mean she would be bigger and badder and uglier in the future, as she matured. That was a scary thought.
Cissy straddled its thigh, her feet kicking, tendons in her neck straining as she tried to take the weight off her throat to breathe. To the succubus, I said, "Better deal. I kill you and no one gets handed over." A thin rivulet of blood, near black in the scant light, rolled down Cissy's throat, into her collar. The blade cauterized the wound even as it cut her.
"Call mage in dire," Audric demanded as we circled the queen, feet icy in the snow.
"Can't. Cissy isn't close enough to death for me to summon seraphic warriors."
"I say she is," he said.
Uncertainty snaked through me. My breath puffed in tiny, rapid clouds. If I called mage in dire, every adult in town could die. When seraphs came to fight evil, humans died. Always.
Gramma smiled, drawing its lips back to reveal sharp teeth, jaw stretching forward, squaring off. I had seen this transformation before. It wasn't pretty. The succubus drew its illusion back around itself like a cloak, smile narrowing and teeth reshaping into human-molar bluntness. But Cissy's blood and burned skin were no illusion. She mewled like a kitten in the grip of a hawk. Gramma kissed the top of her head, snuggling her close. "Not to worry, poppet. It won't hurt much. And not for long."
"Cissy?"
It was Ciana, my stepchild, above and behind me, on the porch of Rupert's loft. Gramma's nostrils flared as she scent-searched, but her eyes never rose to the girl. Ciana possessed a pin with camouflage properties. She didn't become invisible, exactly, but it did seem really hard for evil to find and focus on her.
"No seraphs," I warned. I didn't have to explain what could, what would, happen if she called the High Host for help. She had seen humans die in the presence of the holy ones. But I wasn't sure we could save Cissy without help. The beast bulked larger as I watched. It had grown in power since I'd seen it last. I didn't think I could use verbal ploys against it this time. "Not yet," I added.
"All right," the young girl said, sounding far calmer than I felt. Her trust in me had always been terrifying.
Use the binding, Audric had suggested. Okay. An icy wind blew against my body and I shivered in reaction. "You are mine," I said to the beast, "bound to me. Let the child go."
The thing that no longer resembled Gramma cocked its head, the movement human-slow. Its shoulders rose and fell, an almost pensive shift of muscles.
"Let the child go. You are mine. You must obey," I said, drawing on the mage visa, the one function I had mastered, to instill my voice with command.
The glamour quivered across its features again, revealing patches of alabaster skin, blond hair, and one vivid eye in a mishmash of features, the beautiful Jane Hilton on one half, Gramma on the other. The new face, the face Lucas had left me for, looked startled, then astonished, and said, "You!" The lovely half snarled in anger and rippled, and the human visages vanished, leaving only succubus in its wake. The beast smiled, canines longer and razor sharp. Cissy fell silent. I wasn't sure she was breathing.
I rushed it, blades flashing. It snapped back a dozen steps, demon-fast. "No, no, no, mageling." A shield snapped open just in front of my toes, the energies throwing me back, feet burning like lightning. In mage-sight, the shield was an ocher-yellow dome seething with earth energies. It was a mage construct, which meant there were mages nearby, Dark mages, helping this beast. Whether willing or under compulsion, it was bad on all sorts of levels. "You constrained me once," it said. "My master's master freed me of your lowly incantation."
My master's master? Death and plagues. Is she talking about the Dragon? Audric and I circled the shield, reversing midway, back and forth. My socks stuck and pulled free of the ice beneath my aching feet with each careful step. Gramma sniffed, head raised, searching for a whiff of the Stanhope genetic strain, but was unable to locate Ciana. I looked around for Rupert or Ciana's father - my ex-husband, Lucas - or Thaddeus Bartholomew, their cousin, all descendents of Mole Man. I would have prayed they'd all remain indoors, but I knew they wouldn't. I knew they hadn't. That would be too easy and men never made anything easy. The succubus's eyes glowed brightly as it located prey off to my right. Seraph stones. What was I going to do?
From my angle, I could see Ciana standing on the high porch, her nightgown fluttering in the rising breeze. She was watching me, and in her hand was the pin gifted her by the seraph Raziel as protection from evil; it glowed a brilliant gold, as if she held a star in her fist, shielding her. The succubus was looking away from the girl and down, on street level, at Rupert.
My best friend was standing in the doorway of the shop, sleep-creased, half-naked. His face was blank, empty. Seraph stones. He was spelled. So was Lucas. In my side vision, I saw Ciana's father walk onto Upper Street; he stared at the beast as if it held his heart in one hand. On his neck, smudges of Dark energies glowed, old scars left from imprisonment beneath the Trine, activated by the growing power of the beast. But the queen hadn't seen him. Yet.
"Audric," I warned. Cold wind tore through my pajamas. My calves cramped as my feet froze. Cissy had gone limp. Above me, Ciana watched, her face serene, waiting.
"I see them." Face blank, Rupert reached toward the beast. Audric stepped to block him, arms out wide. "Now might be a good time to try the anticonjures you've been working on."
My mind cleared, taking on the crisp clarity of incipient battle. I lifted one of the small, drilled, and polished Dalmatian jasper nuggets, the opaque black-and-white stones hanging from thin string loops on my necklace. I had made a batch of the anticonjures - supposed to disable most lower to mid-level incantations - but hadn't tested them. I had no idea if they would diminish the lure of a succubus or make things worse. If the succubus's allure was a higher level conjure, they probably wouldn't work at all.
I ripped a nugget from its temporary loop and tossed it to the ice at Rupert's feet. It bounced. Exploded. Time slid sideways, a slow-motion vision, a dozen things happening at once and I saw/felt them in overlays of sensation.
Snow and ice blasted over Rupert, the concussion throwing him backward. Audric and I hit the snow, my skin abrading in a wide patch along calf and lower arm as I slid. My ears popped painfully. The succubus's shield fell and she howled, sharp canines reflecting moonlight. The knife at Cissy's throat bit down. Blood drenched her nightgown. Snow and ice tumbled from the air like hail. As ice-shrapnel fell, the beast changed its grip and reached for Rupert, lying prone, stunned. The beast smiled in a parody of lust and delight. Lucas stepped closer, his expression hungry, arms out in entreaty. Wordless, I rolled to my knees. I couldn't reach them in time.
A thunk sounded over the ringing in my ears. The succubus shuddered and dropped its arm. A knife hilt protruded from its neck below the clavicle. Snarling, it almost let Cissy fall.
From the street, I threw the remaining two amulets at the queen. They exploded at her clawed feet, ripping into the rutted ice. The smell of succubus, of dead things, stagnant water, and rotting flowers vanished in a blast of sulfur and brimstone, the scent of Darkness. Lucas was knocked to the earth and rose shaking his head as if waking from a nightmare. I had a single glimpse of his horrified face. The anticonjure had worked. Sort of. Its shield was gone and its conjure of allure was nullified, but it wasn't dead. Another knife appeared in the body of the creature, the sound lost in the concussion of the blasts.
"Audric?" I shouted. I was deaf but needed information. Who'd thrown the knives? I rolled to my feet and raced forward.
"Not mine," he shouted, the words muffled in my damaged ears.
My longsword and tanto slashed in the lion rising, aiming along the succubus's torso beside and below the child held against its breast. I cut the beast deeply, leaving four wounds in its hide, and danced back when it slashed out with claws that hadn't been there before. Cissy, who I had thought unconscious, whimpered in pain, her tears bright pink in mage-sight. She inhaled, the sound harsh in the night.
The succubus pulled one knife from its chest and dropped it to the street. It fell slowly, time still out of sync, to the rutted snow. The blood-covered blade glowed Dark in mage-sight. I sliced through the beast's right Achilles tendon and it staggered. So I severed its left, leaving it flatfooted and immobile for a moment. Darkness healed fast. The succubus wasn't a fallen seraph or demon, not in the scriptural sense of the word; it wasn't a spirit being; it wasn't immortal. Like spawn and other minor Darkness, it could be killed.
"Crap in a bucket," a tinny voice called from across the street. "Thorn?" I shook my head to clear the fear and the dregs of the blast away and saw Eli standing in an open doorway, his slight form backlit by lamplight, night-vision goggles on his face, a bulbous weapon slung across his body.
"Can you burn it?" I asked, my ears popping, adapting to the pressure changes.
He looked down at his weapons and back to the succubus and shook his head. "Not dead. Not something that powerful. We're gonna need help with this big sucker."
"I was afraid of that," I said. Eli's flamethrower was effective against smaller creatures, and had once burned Forcas' eyes to slow it down, but to kill the bigger baddies, I would need more firepower. Which was scary on top of scary. It limited our options, because I didn't know how to use my visa to call for seraphic support, and the succubus hadn't given us an opening to call for help in the traditional manner. So far. When it did, that help probably wouldn't come in time. Someone would die. Then lots of someones. Save the town to let it die by holy salvation; a catch-22.
Another knife hit the succubus and it roared, bulking huge, its body nearly six feet tall, its energy patterns swarming nearly two feet higher. Its transformation from Gramma to Big Bad Ugly was complete: a square jaw filled with jagged teeth, black lips and white gums, upper and lower tusks, unblinking slit-eyes like a snake's, and skin banded in orange and black scales. And it had claws that a full-grown lion would envy. It had evolved since I'd last seen it unglamoured. It was huge, far more powerful. Yet it hadn't seen Lucas or Ciana. Why not? That was probably important.
The answer opened out before me almost like a response to prayer. Lucas had been exposed to seraphic forces. So had Ciana. The queen could only locate Rupert, and until I turned off the ward on the loft, it hadn't even been able to smell him well. Though I knew the outcome would not have been different, guilt slithered through my mind.
The succubus looked at me and shook Cissy. "Give me one of Mole Man's blood or this one will feed me," the queen said. "Others will follow."
"Oh, merciful savior," a voice echoed through the dark. "My baby." Jacey emerged from her doorway, nightgown showing beneath a drab shift. She held knitting needles like weapons in one hand, a blue-coned acetylene torch flaming in the other. A mother come to do battle for her child. But she wasn't a warrior. "Thorn?" Fear coated her voice.
Dancing to avoid its flailing free arm, I cut the succubus again, aiming for its hamstring. Even moving with mage-speed I barely avoided an immense, swiping fist. The beast was slowing, but not enough. Unless it fell, I couldn't take its head. It could heal from most anything else. And a queen might heal from that too for all I knew. I stabbed its groin and raced back. The fight had lasted only moments but it felt like hours. I was growing clumsy with cold.
Lights flashed on along the street, throwing rectangles of brightness onto the snow. Rupert moaned, pushing himself into a sitting position, touching his head as if his ears hurt. "What - " he stopped, staring at the scaled beast clutching his godchild in its arms. "Cissy," he breathed. Scantily clad humans poured from doorways, drawn by the anticonjure explosions. Some carried axes, others shotguns and long-bladed knives. Moments passed, fractions of seconds that felt like days. Like Ciana, Jacey stood, waiting on me. Trusting me. I was breathing hard, the frigid air burning my lungs.
A third knife slammed into the beast, catching it in the hip joint with deadly accuracy, missing Cissy by a quarter of an inch. It shrieked, an agonized sound, and I feared the queen would crush Cissy in anger, but the succubus held the girl high, staring at the black blood pumping from its femoral artery.
A fourth knife thunked into the base of its spine, hilt quivering. I whipped my head, scanning the night. Like me, the attacker was circling the succubus, but even with mage-sight open, I wasn't seeing him. Cheran was shielding himself.
To my left and right, the Steins appeared out of the night, automatic weapons at the ready. Unlike the rest of us, the town's only Jewish family was dressed for war, in padded clothes, coats, gloves, and boots. At the sight, pure agony arched through my feet. The man to the left wore a yarmulke instead of a battle helmet, as if battling Darkness was a holy act. Maybe it was. The woman to my right had knotted her hair into a tight fighting queue, her face rigid with resolve, fear nowhere to be seen.
Her confidence restored my own. All minor Darkness could be destroyed. The succubus could be killed. The Steins' people had been battling Darkness for six thousand years. I took a breath, settling myself.
Lucas stepped close, buttoning a flannel shirt against the freezing night, black hair loose in the breeze. He accepted a shotgun from the woman.
"It's loaded with Dead Sea salt ammo," she said. Which meant the pellets in each shell were encased in a capsule of salt mined from the Dead Sea and shipped over at dreadful cost. It was worth more than gold or diamonds, but it was one thing that would kill Darkness as well as a blade. She acknowledged me, a sharp nod. I remembered her name. Gloria. Gloria Stein. She had two kids and a husband, the man locked in fighting stance beside her.
"Thanks," Lucas said. "Can you get Cissy free?" he asked me, placing his feet carefully to either side of a rut in the snow. "If you can, maybe I can disable it with this."
"And we can finish it off," the woman said, her weapon making a smooth ratcheting sound, metal on metal.
I took a second breath to answer yes. "Smoke," I said instead.
Audric looked around and up. "The roofs. Spawn."
"Jesus," Lucas prayed.
Reddish creatures scampered across the roof of my loft. They carried brands glowing with fire. Farther down the street, flames shot from the roof of the library. Seraph stones. They were burning the town.
Ciana mumbled. It sounded like, "I can do this. I can."
"Ciana, no!" I shouted. Whatever it was, it would be dangerous. Stanhopes always found self-destructive, sacrificial methods to help others. Lucas looked from his daughter to the beast, started to speak, and closed his mouth on the words, his face going cold and expressionless as he studied the queen. I had never seen that look before.
"Thorn?" Jacey said again.
"Shut off the torch," I said to her, turning from my ex-husband. "Fire can't hurt that thing." At her stricken reaction, I said, "We'll rescue Cissy. I promise." Stupid, stupid, stupid. Never promise the life of another. But I had. The determination on Gloria's and Lucas' faces convinced me we could.
Ciana held the shining seraph pin straight-armed over her other palm, as she leaned perilously out over the street. She stabbed down. The smell of Stanhope blood filled the night and the succubus whipped up its head, searching for the source. Ciana extended her wounded hand, bloody palm down. In some small part of my mind, I was startled. I had expected Ciana to place the pin in her bloody palm, which I figured would have called Raziel to protect her.
Her voice floated down. "Y'hee..." With each syllable, a drop of her blood hit the snow, landing in a rectangle of light from a window. Stanhope blood. The permutations and consequences of what she was doing were beyond me. I was only a half-trained mage. "...ore. Y'hee ore. Ore."
"Hebrew," the woman beside me said, tilting her head toward the porch and Ciana. "She's speaking Hebrew. Genesis one. Let there be light."
Saints' balls. Time snapped, a dizzying, fast-forward dislocation. Audric raced in and stabbed the beast, cutting across its abdomen, down, and across in a Zorro, to disembowel it. Ichor ruptured into the street and the half-breed wrenched away from the putrid mess.
"The kid speaks Hebrew?" Eli asked, his voice tight.
"No," I said. "She doesn't."
The beast hit the ground with a meaty fist. "Stones and blood," Cheran swore from the shadows, foolishly, stupidly, giving power to the Dark. The succubus raised its head and roared in victory at the might of the blasphemy. I heard the mage hiss as he realized what he'd done. Cheran had clearly never been to war.
Lucas stood flatfooted, his face etched with sorrow, looking from the beast to his only child. I didn't know why he grieved, but my breath caught in my throat as the lynx howled again. "God in heaven," he said softly, in the echo of the roar. "What are we?"
What are who? Stanhopes? There wasn't time to consider that question. The succubus dangled Cissy by the neck like a broken doll, her face ashen, her tongue swollen and protruding. She was unconscious. Close to death. I opened my mouth to call mage in dire, permitted when a child or another innocent was near death at the hands of Darkness. Shots rang out, echoing down the street. The succubus roared, shaking the child.
In the same instant, fire shot from the roof of Shamus Waldroup's bakery across the street. Four knives landed in the Darkness, centered between its ribs, a small compensation for the control Cheran had given it.
"Y'hee ore." On the ice below Ciana, her blood began to brighten, seven crimson drops lightening to a ruby glow. As if ignited by the energies of her blood, a circular grid below the snow and ice of the street began to brighten. A sigil had been placed there, perhaps below the asphalt, by a seraph. It had lain, inert, invisible to all but me, or so I thought. Now I realized that Ciana had to have seen it, somehow, with her human eyes. Impossible. Yet, the sigil was being called to life. The sigil of the seraph Cheriour, an Angel of Punishment and Judgment.
In the street, humans jumped aside, to the left or the right of the spreading, glowing lines. The succubus roared, shouting my name as it stepped away, as if the lines beneath its feet burned. A human raced in brandishing an ax, and buried it in the beast's thigh. It swatted him away, leaving a bloody trail. Other humans raced in to fight; blades landed in the tough flesh and shots rang out. Warriors screamed and I smelled blood, but I didn't watch the combat. I watched the child of my heart. I watched Ciana as she closed her fist against the flow of blood. I didn't know what she had done, but the call of mage in dire died in my throat.
Below Ciana, the golden streaks moved together, finishing the sigil's outline. When they met, the sigil was complete. Seven spots of ruby light shot up from the snow, one spot for each drop of sacrificed blood. Within each beam of light, fingers of flame rose, tickling the night air, changing from ruby to purple to deepest blue, bluer than a burning torch. Fire swayed in the breeze a moment before popping free of the ground and forming round globes of Flame.
Ciana laughed delightedly, blue eyes sparkling. My breath stopped. Ciana had called for help from the High Host. She had called Minor Flames. No human should be able to summon them, especially not an eight-year-old girl. Even I didn't know how.
Two of the Flames danced close to me and away, almost in greeting. I wondered fleetingly if they were the two Flames I had rescued after a battle. They had been wounded, drained of power. And I had kept them safe, mixing them in with my amulets. Later, following another battle, I had discovered that the Flames were gone. Were these two the same? Either way, I knew what to do with them.
The faint sense of paralysis sluiced from me like water across a boulder. Time, elastic and supple, snapped back and settled. Always a liquid construct in battle, time made seconds seem like hours or hours seconds. I took a breath of the frigid air. "Thorn?" Jacey asked, her voice desperate.
On feet that were numb with cold, I moved away from the succubus, studying the scene: the gathering fighters circling the beast, shooting and cutting, darting in and back out. Some of the warriors were bleeding badly. Cissy. The Flames hovered in the air, seven balls of plasma. My night vision was consumed by them, and I slipped in the slick blood and ichor of the Darkness. I caught myself, expecting to feel the burn of acid on my soles. I felt nothing from the body fluids of the Dark, which was bad. I had no idea how long I had been standing in the snow, paralyzed by indecision, but it was too long. There was no time for the cold or for wounds. If I lived, I could worry about injury later. I focused to the side of the beings dancing on the air.
"Three and three and one, I greet thee," I said with the formality of mage to the High Host. "If you will, three to demolish spawn, three to harass the beast, and one to me."
From down the street voices called out, "Fire brigade!"
"Buckets!" A siren sounded, a long wail. "Get the truck!"
Before my face, the Flames rose and twirled, leaving plasma trails in the night, blue-bright on my retinas. They divided and spun away in groups of three, one group to the rooftops where spawn chittered, another to attack the succubus, darting toward it in an arrow shape. One lone Flame hovered near me. It worked. They had done what I asked.
Out of the shadows, Cheran hissed again, this time a single word. "Omega." But that was for another time as well.
Still looking to the side so my vision wouldn't be affected, I asked the Flame, "Can you coat my blade with your power? Is it possible?"
It dashed along the mage-steel of the longsword, touching it once. A shock zapped through the prime amulet hilt, stinging my palm, and the Flame swept away with a tremor, as if pained. "I guess not," I said, shaking my hand. My gaze raked the street.
The succubus shrieked as an arrow of Flames stabbed beneath its arm, pierced its side, and disappeared within. The reek of the blood of Darkness, rancid and sulfurous, was joined by the scent of scorched, rotting meat, and the cleaner smell of burning wood. Screams echoed up and down the street and up into the hills.
Audric and Rupert danced into the illumination and back into the night, part of the struggle, swords flashing in savage-blade.
Fire brightened the night, sputtering yellow, throwing smoke from the housetops in choking clouds. In the fitful light, two humans, Gloria and her husband, aimed carefully, their weapons set for single-shot. They rang out, the smell of cordite adding to the stench. Eli moved almost as gracefully as a supernat, darting in to recut the tendons on the beast's ankles. I smelled Thadd in the night, far off, not coming close. It wasn't fear of the beast, I knew, but he had to have heard about the new mage in town, and was protecting himself.
I extended the tanto to the Flame. "How about this one?" This blade was also mage-made steel, but not the highest quality, not made especially for me, and not attached to a prime amulet like the hilt of the longsword. Gingerly, it touched the edge, singing a single note, like a silver bell pealing. There was no shock. The Flame elongated, drawing itself into a narrow beam of light, and settled onto the edge of the blade.
"Holy light sabers, Batman," Eli said from my side. "It's Luke Skywalker."
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I knew it was irreverent. Eli always was. I also knew that to use the weapon I had just been given, I'd have to get close to the succubus. Real close. Mage-in-dire close. How dumb was that? I handed my longsword to Eli.
"I take it you're going to do something stupid," he said.
With a daunting sense of deja vu, I asked, "Can you get me next to it?"
Most men, even my champards, would have tried to stop me. Eli just blew out a breath and said, "I may not be able to kill it, but I can give it a hurtin'."
I liked him a lot in that moment. He stuck my sword in his belt and brandished the flamethrower, checking the fluid levels in the bulbous bag. "Don't get yourself killed," he said as he worked. "We have unfinished business." When I looked the question at him, he said, "A saddle, whipped cream, maybe a pair of handcuffs? And silk. Yeah." He twirled a handgun like a western gunslinger and pumped the bag of the flamethrower. "Red silk. A teddy."
I laughed, the sound a surprised huff of breath.
"Follow me," he said, winking an amber eye. He adjusted a black wire that arched from his mouth to his ear, a high-tech radio. "Alpha to my four o'clock," Eli said into the mike, a command. "Beta to twelve," he shouted. "On my mark!" And he rushed forward, racing to the feet of the succubus.