Grave Dance Part 26

"Who is the one who cast the constructs," I said. I'd already reached that conclusion. While the constructs might have been fueled by stolen souls, they were controlled by witch magic. Those copper disks existed in the mortal plane-a collector wouldn't have been able to touch them.

The raver nodded. "Our magic debased to vulgarity and tarnished with mortal conjurings," she said, her mouth twisting like talking about it carried a bad taste.

Nice to know her apparent dislike of me is nothing personal-she dislikes mortals in general. I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the pain in my arms and back. Not exactly easy in this situation. Or really, more like not possible. The itching around my wrists had turned to a dull burning and my fingers were slowly falling asleep.

I glanced at Death. He'd been awfully quiet throughout this conversation. "So you want me to find the accomplice in Faerie?"

"No, I don't," he said, and the gray man rapped him on the knee again with his cane.

"But we do need you to find the accomplice," the gray man said, shooting Death a glare.

The constructs were souls wrapped in glamour and controlled by charms etched with runes that hadn't been used in half a millennium. That did seem to point to Faerie, but...

"The accomplice isn't in Faerie. Holly was kidnapped and a note was left demanding that I go to the old bridge at two tonight. The magic in the seal is similar to that in the constructs. The accomplice you're looking for will be there." Which was all the more reason for me to get free of this car.

Death's arm tightened around my shoulder, but it was the gray man who said, "Then we will be at that bridge, but this rendezvous has the markings of a trap. The accomplice might not appear."

Like I don't know that. I slouched lower in the seat. Of course, at this rate, there was a good chance I wouldn't show either.

"What makes you sure the accomplice is in Faerie?" I asked. After all, it was possible that a fae living in the mortal realm was working with a witch who found an old grimoire, maybe a book pa.s.sed down through a family. Then an even better question hit me. "And how are they communicating with the reaper?" The only mortals who could see collectors at any time other than the moment of their death were grave witches. There might have been some varieties of fae with the ability, but I wasn't sure of that.

All three collectors went still.

They glanced at one another, not saying a thing. The car hit a b.u.mp, jostling me. They still hadn't spoken by the time I resituated myself. From my lifelong acquaintance with Death, I knew that a collector couldn't be pressured into speaking, so I glanced out the window, trying to figure out where Bell's goons were taking me. We appeared to still be headed south, out of the city. The gray man shook his head, one quick twist of his neck, but the raver shrugged. Finally Death turned to me.

"We . . . lost one of our own. He was hunting for the accomplice and was on Faerie's doorstep when it happened."

Lost? What could hurt, let alone destroy, a soul collector? I chewed at my bottom lip. "How is that possible? You guys aren't physical." Well, to most people, me not included.

And maybe to the two planeweavers belonging to the high court. Or possibly an awoken legend. I thought about the tear and the fact that all the gra.s.s inside the circle had been withered, as if brushed by the land of the dead. Counting the facts that the magic used originated in three realms: mortal, faerie, and spirit; and that a collector had been physical enough to be killed, it all added up to someone touching multiple planes.

In a voice quiet enough that I hoped the goons in the front seat wouldn't hear, I laid out those thoughts to the collectors. They looked surprised by my conclusion, as if they hadn't considered it.

"I cannot discount that possibility, but there is another explanation that is more likely," Death said after I finished. "There is a relic. It was either lost or hidden in Faerie centuries ago, but the last time it surfaced, it allowed mortals and our kind to meet in-" He paused. "A fold in realities. Sort of a between s.p.a.ce where both touch."

"So you think this accomplice found the relic?"

I must have asked the question louder than I meant to because the goon in the pa.s.senger seat turned around again. "Who are you talking to?" he asked. "And why are you sitting like that?"

Yeah, it had to be pretty strange to look squished when nothing appeared to be around you. Not much I could do about it, though. I shrugged. "I'm uncomfortable. Could you take the cuffs off?"

He snorted and shook his head. "We'll be there soon." Then, thankfully, he turned back toward the front.

Death readjusted so he could bend his arm behind my head. He rubbed his thumb in small circles along my spine, ma.s.saging the sore muscles. I nearly moaned.

"Yes, we believe the relic has resurfaced," the gray man said as if the goon's interruption hadn't occurred. "It transcends several realities, but it causes ripples, small disturbances."

"What does the relic look like?"

The collectors exchanged another long glance. Oh, come on, they want me to go looking for someone who found a relic, but they won't even tell me what it is?

The raver finally shrugged. "It has changed through time, depending on who used it and for what reasons."

"And now someone is using it to kill?" Would that make it a weapon of some sort?

"The situation is more dire than a dozen untimely deaths," Death said. "From the evidence we've seen from the accomplice's ritual sites-"

Sites, plural. Which meant there were more than the police knew about.

"-we believe they are attempting to use the relic as a focus to open permanent paths between our planes. You have looked across the planes. I'm sure you understand the possible implication of the s.p.a.ce between realities becoming too thin."

I swallowed, or tried to, but my mouth had suddenly gone dry. If the Aetheric was always in reality and anyone could grab magic, burn themselves out like the skimmers . . . I s.h.i.+vered. And the land of the dead? The world as we knew it would be changed forever.

"That's why they want me?" I whispered.

Death nodded. "With your ability to merge planes and the relic as a focus . . . But, Alex, they may want you, but they don't need you. The last ritual was close. The next may succeed."

Which would destroy the world. I thought back to what Fred had said about the world decaying. Let that be a warning and not an unchangeable outcome. "We'd better hope the accomplice shows at the bridge."

And speaking of a bridge, the car crossed the river and then turned onto an old gravel road. I frowned. The only thing in this direction was a cemetery.

"We will be at the bridge," the gray man said. "But in case the accomplice does not show . . ."

"Trust me, I'm already looking for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Knowing they are attempting to royally screw up reality definitely doesn't give me less reason to search." But first I had to get away from the skimmers.

The gray man nodded as if pleased with my answer. The crunch of tires over gravel fell away and the car slowed to a stop. Why the h.e.l.l are they taking me to a cemetery?

"If you manage to find the accomplice, call us," the raver said.

"Call-?"

"With this." Death leaned forward, his lips brus.h.i.+ng mine, but there was more than just smooth lips to the kiss. Power rolled into me, cold, foreign magic, and I felt the spell sink into my very flesh. It tingled, burning like ice against my skin. Then Death's warm lips soothed away the sting.

"Was that really necessary?" the raver asked Death as he broke the kiss. "You could have pa.s.sed her the spell through any contact."

Death smiled, his eyes glittering in the light from the streetlamps. "Yes, it was necessary," he whispered, answering her but staring at me.

I looked away, ignoring the twisty, fluttery feeling filling my stomach. "So how does this work?"

"You can feel the spell, yes?" the gray man asked, and at my nod he said, "Good. When you find the accomplice, and they are outside of Faerie, use the spell. We will feel it. We will all feel it."

As in all the soul collectors? I imagined every soul collector in the world appearing around me and then I s.h.i.+vered, making a mental note not to poke at the spell. I nodded as the goons jerked the back car door open. Time's up.

"Be safe. We hope to see you at the bridge," the gray man said before vanis.h.i.+ng.

The raver swiped her hand through the air, orange nails flas.h.i.+ng like claws. "What he said." Then she also disappeared.

I glanced at Death, expecting him to vanish as well, but he didn't. As the goon dragged me out of the backseat, Death followed. He locked one hand on my arm and used the other to steady my purse against me so PC didn't tumble unceremoniously to the ground. The goons pulled me away from the car, Death right beside me. Then the raver appeared next to him.

"What is the holdup?" She c.o.c.ked a hip as she stared at him. "It's not like you can enter." She nodded at the cemetery gate. "Come on."

He didn't fight her when she wrapped her hand around his arm, but he didn't look away from me either. "I'll be at the bridge," he said.

Then he vanished and I was left with the goons as half a dozen skimmers poured out of vehicles. All of us headed for a graveyard.

Chapter 27.

The goons hauled me around tombstones and monuments, heedless of my dragging steps. I really could have used a moment to focus on my s.h.i.+elds, but they didn't give me one. The media had a tendency to portray grave witches as creepy goths hanging out in cemeteries. While it was true that I tended to do most of my work in cemeteries, I certainly didn't enjoy hanging out in them. There were too many bodies, too much grave essence clawing at my s.h.i.+elds and searching for weak spots. It was always a relief to leave a graveyard.

The moon provided the only light, so I was once again relying on my psychic vision and not my eyes. I'd been happy when I woke to find it had mostly faded, but now as I stared out at the darkness, I wished it had lasted a little longer. My psyche was touching the other planes, but only slightly, so the scene around me was like a watercolor of crumbling monuments that had been left in the rain, so the image faded and blurred until it could barely be seen. I could have cracked my s.h.i.+elds and straddled the planes properly, but without a circle and with so many bodies surrounding me, the tidal wave of grave essence would be dangerous.

"You guys picked a cheery spot, didn't you?" I said, rambling because I tended to do that when I got nervous.

Neither goon answered, but a rotund skimmer with rings on all of his pudgy fingers frowned as he kept pace with us. "It's temporary." He hugged his arms over his chest as if guarding against a chill. Even at one in the morning, the temperature had to be in the high eighties and there wasn't a breeze. I guessed he wasn't cold. The man looked around, a little too much of the white of his eyes showing. "You don't think ghosts really exist, do you?"

He's asking a grave witch that? Not only did ghosts exist, but this graveyard boasted several, and currently they were doing what most ghosts stuck for eternity in a graveyard tend to do-they were following the strangers. Us.

There were no truly old bodies in Nekros, but this was one of the oldest and largest graveyards in the city. Or really, below the city. We couldn't have been more than a dozen miles from the old bridge. Not like they're going to take me there.

The goons stopped in front of a large mausoleum. The engraving over the arched doorway read BELL.

No surprise there.

They pushed me into the cool, stagnant air inside the mausoleum. The pudgy skimmer pulled out a cell phone and used the LCD screen as a flashlight. Goon One had a Zippo. Way to come prepared. Still, what they could see with their makes.h.i.+ft lights was probably more reliable than the washed-out ruins I saw, so I let the goons guide me. That way I wouldn't slam PC into anything that didn't exist in my vision.

They stopped in front of a sarcophagus and Goon One fumbled with something under the carved rim. The click was loud in the dark stillness, and the skimmer with the phone jumped. Then the large stone lid swung aside to reveal a staircase.

Okay, this is a little too spy movie for me. Tell me Bell doesn't have a secret hideout under his family mausoleum.

But he did.

I descended the stairs into a well-lit room. A generator roared somewhere out of sight, and a hiss whispered around the room as fresh air was pumped into the underground s.p.a.ce. Judging by the number of cots pushed against the far wall, Bell wasn't the only person staying here. No wonder Roy hadn't been able to warn me until Bell made his move-they'd been hiding in a cemetery this whole time.

"Welcome," Bell said, not rising from a large wooden chair that had been placed in the center of the room like it was a throne. Would that make him the king of sewer rats?

He smiled at me, and his dark eyes glinted, but not with mirth. No, with madness.

Magic clung in clumps around him. They weren't spells exactly, but high concentrations of magic forced with no skill into crude charms-like square pegs pounded into round holes. With a jackhammer.

"Forgive the unorthodox manner of your employment," he said, but he slurred the words. I didn't think alcohol had anything to do with his condition. "You see, we ran out of magic. You will be well compensated."

Bulls.h.i.+t. He was a fugitive, and from the hungry look of the gathered skimmers, the lot of them were addicted from their brush with the Aetheric. They wanted a fix. Even if I did open a rift for them-which wasn't an option-most would burn like a moth in a flame.

"Like I told you before, you can't hire me to open a hole into the Aetheric." I'd have liked to say I couldn't do it, but that would have been a lie, and the words stuck in my throat.

Bell blinked at me. Then he nodded at the goons behind me. The rasp and clack of a gun c.o.c.king filled the room. A cold s.h.i.+ver shot down my spine and I froze, rooted to the concrete under my feet. The hard muzzle of the gun pressed into the flesh under my ear. My heart crashed in my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs, but I didn't dare breathe too hard.

I could die right here, in this hole in the ground, and no one would ever know. The skimmers were crazy enough to do it. No one even looked surprised as they watched the goon press the gun hard enough against my skin to make my pulse burst like explosions in my ear. And I'll be just another cemetery haunt. Death wouldn't be able to reach me, and I'd be stuck until I was forgotten and faded away.

I glanced at the ghosts who had followed us into the mausoleum. They flitted about, chattering to themselves. One woman, so indistinct that she was barely a shadow, smiled at me. I don't know if she realized I could see her, or if she just thought I'd join her soon.

Not tonight I won't.

Okay, points for bravado, but even if I could open the rift in reality-which I wasn't sure I could do on command-there were no guarantees that Bell would release me. And who knew how much damage the skimmers could do in their blissed-out madness if they had unlimited access to the Aetheric? It just wasn't an option. I had to find some way out of this that didn't endanger an unknown number of people while the skimmers fed their addiction.

"You're awfully silent, Miss Craft," Bell said, and the gun barrel ground harder into my skin.

I swallowed, tasting acidic fear. My dagger hummed in my boot, but even if my hands hadn't been bound, the only thing I would be able to accomplish by drawing it would be to get myself shot. Of course, I did have one other thing. I had the whole d.a.m.n graveyard. The idiots had dragged me off to a grave witch's seat of power. Not that grave magic was the least bit effective against the living, but what I really needed was a big enough distraction for me to get the h.e.l.l out of here.

My gaze shot to the ghosts still flitting about the room. They might just provide me with one. But first I had to persuade Bell to remove my cuffs.

"Okay, Bell, you made your point. I'll perform a ritual." I didn't specify which ritual, but I doubted he'd notice.

"Splendid! And I told you to call me Max. Now, how long will the ritual take to prepare?"

"Not long." Or at least I hoped not. "But if I'm going to do this, I'll need your men to uncuff me"-and get the d.a.m.n gun away from my head-"so I can draw a circle."

"My people can draw the circle for you."

No. That wouldn't work. I needed the cuffs off. Getting out of here would be a h.e.l.l of a lot easier if I could use my hands. "I need to draw it. My magic is . . . peculiar." Okay, that was almost a lie. My magic was peculiar, that was true, and I did need to draw the circle to have an excuse to be freed, but the two statements had no connection. It was amazing what vagueness and implication let me get around. I'd remember that the next time I dealt with fae.

Bell frowned, but after a moment he nodded and the goons unlocked the handcuffs. The release from the irritating constraints was a shock, which made being free more painful than being bound. I pulled my arms to the front of my body and rubbed my aching wrists, which were red and puffy. PC licked my hands, offering his own comfort.

"Do you need something to draw the circle with?" Bell asked, and before I could respond, a young woman with hair she clearly hadn't brushed since she woke stepped forward and handed me a stick of chalk.

It wasn't the nearly invisible wax chalk I usually used for indoor rituals but a fist-thick stick of neon pink sidewalk chalk. Right. I accepted it, frowning as the powder coated my fingers, and then I looked around. The ghosts in the room were losing interest in the skimmers and floating off. That wasn't good. I needed the ghosts to be interested. Very interested.

The ghost who'd smiled at me earlier hovered near the stairwell. I started to make my way toward her, but one of the goons grabbed my arm before I made it two steps.

"Where are you going, Miss Craft? You wouldn't think about double-crossing me, would you?" Bell asked and nodded to Goon Two, who leveled his gun. "Betraying me could be very bad for your health."

"Just trying to decide the best place for my circle."

"How about right here in the center of the room?" Because there are no ghosts in the center of the room? But in truth, as I had no plan to invoke the circle, it didn't matter where I drew it. I moved to where Bell had indicated and began dragging the neon pink chalk across the concrete floor. It would have been easier if my purse and PC hadn't been dangling around my torso, but I wasn't sure how the next few minutes would play out and I wanted PC with me, just in case I didn't have time for anything but running.

"Pssst, hey," I whispered, trying to get the closest ghost's attention as I drew the most meticulous-and fluorescent-circle of my life.

The ghost didn't look at me, but one of the skimmers did. "Are you talking to me?"

"No." I flashed him some teeth and then drew the last foot of my circle.