Awakening (35 page)

Adrenaline was pumping through me, but
a part of me couldn’t believe what I’d just done.

A cold breeze swirled around my neck,
and the words, “They’re coming for you,” whispered across my
ear.

I shook my head and looked
across the sea of bodies. No one close to me seemed to notice what
I had done. They were still swaying and chanting, their eyes glazed
over. I could see movement, three or four men making their way
slowly around and through the crowd. I dropped to my knees next to
the fallen guard. He was dead, I was sure of it. There was no spark
of life in his eyes. Before I could stop and think about what I had
just done, I reached out with my hands and touched his
face
. A
bright
orange light exploded, and there was a rush of sound and images. I
sat back on my heels and watched as the dead man sat up.

“
Girly, what’ve you done to
me now?” It was Wanda’s voice. “You left me to that mob in the
hospital. They tore the body I was in limb from limb, but it wasn’t
until all the parts starting rotting that I was finally freed, and
now look what you’ve done!”

I closed my eyes and
focused on Wanda’s voice. I tried to reach out with my whole being
and touch her spirit. I slowly spoke the words Luke had told me
when I’d tried to bind Thomas’s spirit. “
Constringo Constrixi Constrictum.” I pointed toward the men
coming my way and commanded, “Stop them!”

I had no idea if it would
work. I was reacting on pure instinct, but if I could create the
undead maybe, like a banshee, I could bind them and control them. I
held my breath and waited and, ever so slowly, the dead man rose to
his feet, the axe still embedded in his head. He started walking
toward the back of the room.

“
What the heck is going on,
I don’t want to go this way! Stop! Why am I moving?” Wanda’s voice
cried out.

The dead man’s arm reached
up and pulled out the axe. He started to swing it in the air at the
crowd as he moved. I had just released a zombie into the crowd. A
zombie swinging an axe. How many people would that thing kill? I
had wanted a distraction but I had just committed true murder and I
now had set a monster onto the crowd. A part of me cried out,
screaming in my head that what I was doing was insane, but the
anger in my blood was roaring so loud now I was having a hard time
focusing on anything but the red rage washing over me in
waves.

I watched Wanda stumble
through the crowd, axe swinging clumsily back and forth through the
air.
The clumsy swings did little damage,
for the most part, but here and there the edge cut into a dazed
cultist. The axe suddenly came down into someone’s arm and blood
spurt out in a gush, but the trance was so deep the cultists didn’t
even seemed to notice, they swayed back and forth, until slowly
their body slid to the floor. Wanda the zombie was hurting people,
Wanda the zombie would probably kill people. I should be stopping
her. Instead I turned and looked for Macaven.

He was at the altar, I
shoved my way through the crowd, t
he people
around me were repeating each word Macaven was saying. Macaven was
using the magic and the will of his coven to power a spell, but the
demon wouldn’t be released until tomorrow. If Luke was right,
Macaven would be waiting to release the powerful spell under the
dark moon. If Macaven wasn’t releasing the demon, what spell was he
trying to work?

Screams
began to ripple through the crowd behind me. Would Wanda’s
violence be enough of a distraction to unravel Macaven’s spell? I
turned and saw that she had cut a path most of the way across the
room. Bodies littered the floor behind her. It was hard to tell how
much damage she had done, as the blood blended with the dark robes.
I watched as Wanda the zombie approached the wall, a wide eyed
guard pulled a semi-automatic weapon from underneath his robe and
began firing. The bullets passed through Wanda with almost no
effect, though she shrieked in a disturbing female way from the
male mouth, and stumbled to the side. Several more guards opened
fire, trying to bring Wanda down with the sheer weight of all that
lead. The stream of bullets passed into the crowd, and more of the
coven fell. Wanda wobbled and fell behind a wizard. It was as
effective as putting on a bullet proof vest, the bullets hit the
wizard and zinged off, bouncing in every direction. I had heard
that powerful death dealers could deflect bullet, but actually
seeing it was something else. More bodies dropped, those not so
powerful or lucky. In moments, dozens lay dazed, dead or screaming
in pain on the floor. The firing slowly stopped as the guards fell
to their own bullets bouncing back at them. I had wanted a
distraction, but what I had set in motion was more along the lines
of mass murder.

People were dying. I shook my
head--bad people were dying, people who had committed murder
themselves. These were not innocents, these were the ones who had
agreed to follow Macaven. These were people trying to release a
demon into the world. The innocents were down below, helpless, in
danger unless I did something to save them.

Macaven had stopped to watch the
carnage, but almost immediately his whole focus returned to the boy
on the altar. The sacrifice was going to happen at any moment.
Macaven had the dagger raised in the air, in his other hand the
book. He shouted out more Latin words. I couldn’t let him kill the
boy. I pushed and shoved my way to the bottom steps of the altar.
Macaven, the madman that had killed my family, was moments away
from slitting this boy’s throat. I would not stand by and watch him
kill again. I had to stop him. A red hot, blinding rage burst
through me, and I rushed up the steps.

Macaven spotted me, and he dropped the
book and raised his hand as if to work a spell, but I was moving
too fast. I lowered my shoulder and plowed right into him. We both
flew off the altar and hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. I
grunted in pain as I hit the floor. The knife flew out of Macaven’s
hands and skidded across the room. I forced myself to move--I
rolled toward the dagger and made a grab for it, cutting my flesh
as my fingers wrapped around the blade. My blood slid down the
steel surface, but I ignored the pain and pulled it toward me. I
held the dagger tight in my hand and lifted it up as more of my
blood dripped down its handle.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one
of Macaven’s minions moving toward me. He was a giant, a man so
large that the robe he wore looked like a circus tent. At the sight
of him I froze, unsure what to do next, as nothing short of a tree
trunk would bring this guy down.

Luke and Freddy appeared from nowhere,
plowing into the huge man’s side and sending him stumbling across
the altar. Freddy began wailing on the massive man with his bolt
cutters , while Luke struggled to hold the giant down.

Luke looked over at me and yelled,
“Kill him!” in a strained voice and pointed to where Macaven was
beginning to climb to his feet.

I had the knife. The only way to
release a banshee was to kill the wizard binding him. If my brother
was going to be freed, Macaven had to die. I raised the knife and
started forward. Macaven raised his hands and screamed out.
Banshees began to form in the air around him in an angry tornado.
They swirled around in the air between us. How could I get to him?
By the time I reached him, I would be flayed alive, or worse. The
spirits suddenly turned in my direction and rushed forward. I
raised an arm up over my head, but I realized I had no magic to
protect myself against the assault. I closed my eyes and waited for
them to swarm over me.

A shockwave punch through
the air and knocked me back off my feet. I opened my eyes and
turned to see Luke holding on to the huge man’s leg with one hand
as his other hand waved in the air. Latin words flew from his
mouth. He had called forth his banshees to protect me. Luke’s
banshees rose up and washed forward like a tidal wave, crashing
against Macaven’s spirits. High pitched, wrenching screams filled
the air as tortured souls clashed and smashed into each other. Each
time the spirits collided, a wave of energy exploded out from them,
shooting through the room.
Macaven’s
spirits were overwhelming Luke’s with superior numbers and darker
intent.
A few of Macaven’s banshees broke
through and headed toward me. As they
neared I raised my hands in front of me, shouting out in rage
at the swirling spirits.

The first banshee struck me, slashing
with ghostly, but still quite painful, claws. They would kill me if
I didn’t do something. Did I have the magic to defend myself? I’d
helped a spirit cross over to the light, but I could feel the waves
of evil coming from Macaven’s banshees. These creatures had little
in common with the light. Another painful slash across my back and
then a deep cut into my shoulder. Whatever I was going to try, I
had to do it now.

Was it possible to open up a portal
straight to the fires of hell? Fire. I had used fire to severe the
tie of the dying child from this world to the next. Could I bring
the fire forward again? I closed my eyes and tried to remember the
words I had spoken from the book. There was no cream to induce the
twilight sleep. I had to find my way back to that mental state all
on my own. My life depended on it. Anger sharpened my focus. I
imagined the fire in my mind. Watched the flames flicker into life.
I pushed all the pain and rage pumping through my veins into those
flames. And then I opened my eyes and reached out, and with every
ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed the fire out toward the
banshee closest to me. A blast of red orange heat radiated out and
encircled it. The creature’s screams filled my ears. Ash and embers
floated through the air and, in the empty space where the banshee
had just been, drops of molten liquid rained to the
floor.

I paused for a second in
complete shock. Even among the death and chaos, the enormity of
what I had just done hit me. I had magic as powerful as Luke’s. I’d
used it to protect myself. I was no longer a victim in this
game.
I closed my eyes and reached for the
fire once more. I pushed it out toward the spirits that still
circled me. Screams of pain and horror filled the air as one and
then another was consumed by my fire.

A
nother shockwave hit me and I fell back again. I felt blood
trickling along my arm. I looked down at the dagger still clutched
between my fingers. The dagger. I’d forgotten about it. Without it
Macaven couldn’t finish his spell. If I could release the souls
trapped in the knife, then Macaven would not be able to raise his
demon, and my father would be free.

I forced myself to my
feet.
The dagger
felt warm in my hands. All I had to do was focus on the light,
I could do the same thing had done for Thomas, I could free my
father’s spirit from this prison and help my father cross to the
other side. Without my father’s power, Macaven wouldn’t be able to
release his spell. The dagger vibrated in my hands for a moment but
then stopped. I concentrated harder. I could make out whispers on
the wind. I could hear the tormented cries of the people Macaven
had killed whirling around me. Vengeance, they wanted vengeance. I
closed my eyes and tried harder, and the dagger in my hands started
to hum. The humming grew louder. I opened my eyes to see the dagger
glowing orange. Was it working? Was I releasing my father’s
spirit?

The colored light slowly began to
morph, first into gray and then darker. I heard the sounds again.
The ones I had listened to when I stood before the great expansion
of ink black during the rituals--the unearthly snarls and unworldly
sounds of dragging and thumping. I was back there now, on the edge
of the abyss. I could see it in front of me. Something within it
seemed to call out to the dagger, and suddenly the blackness from
the abyss stretched out, and it swirled around the
dagger.

I heard Luke yell my name and the
world around me exploded. There was nothing I could do as my body
was thrown like a rag doll through the air and across the room. My
body slammed against something hard, and everything went
dark.

When my eyes fluttered opened I cried
out in pain. White hot pain shot across my temples. I forced myself
to sit up and stars blazed across my eyes. Something hot and wet
dripped down my face. I reached up and touched my forehead, it was
warm and sticky. I put my fingers down in front of my face and
looked at them in shock. It was blood--I was bleeding. I had been
thrown into the wall across the room. I was lucky I hadn’t broken
my neck.

That’s when I saw it, floating a few
feet away. It was a cloud of black, but as I looked closer I
realized it wasn’t a cloud, it had a shape--a human form, a body,
not a body of a man or woman, but something else. There was a head,
arms, and warped limbs. As I looked at it, I felt a pain that
radiated from between my eyes. I closed my eyes and opened them
again and realized in horror that the thing’s head was turning
toward me. A set of eyes focused on me, and I felt nauseous and
sick to my stomach.

I heard a voice, not from outside, but
from within my head. “You have released me,” the voice
growled.

The dark thing’s face morphed, and
suddenly I was looking into the face of my father, but this was not
the kind and loving man I knew, these eyes were red and full of
evil.