Blood Ties (4 page)

Of course, Elizabeth was also upset about what they had to do at the end of dinner.

“It's fine, Mom,” Dean said, getting up. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned wearing a large necklace of braided sage to control his smell, which, despite the sand baths and antibacterial care, could still get pretty bad in the heat.

“Is that better?” Dean asked Elizabeth.

She looked up at him with an awful, icy look, then hunched over her food without responding. Dean watched her like he was wondering if there was anything else he could say.

Forks clinked against plates as dinner continued. A loud crack sounded as Dean opened the chicken skull to get at the brains.

Kyle stood. Oliver saw that his plate was clean, and his mouth was stuffed full. “May I be excused, please?” he mumbled around his food.

“Well, honey, I—” Tammy began.

“Please, Mom? I don't want to be around for
it.
”

“That's fine,” said Mitch, standing as well, his plate also cleaned. “Come on, sport, let's go play video games.” He reached over and gave Elizabeth a silent squeeze on the shoulder before leaving the table.

Tammy's eyes wavered again as the two left.

Elizabeth had finished, too, but she remained where she was.

Dean gnawed on a leg bone, grinding it down.

Oliver met Emalie's eyes, and he gave her a nod.

“All right, well, Elizabeth, it's time,” Emalie said carefully. “I'll have to get home soon.”

A tear slipped down Elizabeth's cheek.

Tammy stood so quickly that she knocked over her wineglass. A puddle of crimson spread across the white table cloth. “Come on, Lizzie,” she said, a shudder in her voice. “It will be over before you know it.”

She pulled up on Elizabeth's arm, but Elizabeth shook it off. She shot to her feet on her own and stormed out of the room.

“I wish there was another way,” Dean muttered.

“I know,” said Emalie.

They stood up and followed Tammy, and the sound of Elizabeth's angry steps, into the basement.

Chapter 3

Sacrifices

THEY DESCENDED A RICKETY
wooden staircase into a low-ceilinged basement. Its bare concrete walls were lined with shelves of camping gear and boxes of Christmas decorations. A Ping-Pong table took up almost half the small space, a single light bulb hanging above.

On the far side of the room, Elizabeth kneeled alone inside a white circle painted on the floor. Tammy stood just outside the line, reaching in and stroking Elizabeth's shoulder. Oliver and Dean joined her at the circle's edge, Jenette hovering around them, while Emalie stepped inside and knelt beside Elizabeth.

“Ready?” she asked. Elizabeth didn't reply. Her face was clenched and red as she held out her right arm and dutifully rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her bare skin up to the elbow. There, on her forearm, was a thin white scar, two inches long.

Emalie reached into her striped shoulder bag and pulled out a black film canister. She popped off the top, then glanced down to the floor. Beneath Elizabeth's outstretched arm was a thick black square of obsidian stone with a bowl-shaped depression in its center and gold hieroglyphics around its edges. This was a VanMuren's Mortar, which Oliver and Dean had obtained from Dead Désirée. In it was a small pile of soil from Dean's gravesite, a torn piece of Dean's bloodstained shirt from the night he was killed, the ash of a burned sprig of alpine spruce, and a shiny penny.

Emalie tipped the film canister, and sparkling dust of rose quartz poured into her palm. “All right.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “This will be over before you know it.”

“Be strong, honey,” Tammy said thickly.

Elizabeth barely nodded.

Dean shifted from foot to foot.

Emalie produced a scrap of paper in her other hand and read from it: “
Enthülle den Meister
…” This was German, and it meant “unveil the master.” Emalie breathed nervously, then said:
“Sythlysachh…”
She glanced at Oliver, who nodded. This word was from Skrit, and Emalie's pronunciation improved every time. It meant, “Bring forth the blood.”

Demon whispers began to swirl around the room. Emalie blew the quartz powder out of her hand. The dust scattered at first, then began to gather in the air just above Elizabeth's shaking arm. It swirled and formed a narrow shape, a dagger, coming to a sharp point just above her skin. Elizabeth gasped and held her breath.

“Now,” Emalie commanded.

The dust dagger lowered and slowly sliced along the white scar, reopening the wound.

“
Nnnn!
” Elizabeth cried through gritted teeth. When the cut was reopened, the dagger pulled away and scattered into a rain of dust, falling harmlessly to the floor.

Emalie reached forward, taking Elizabeth's arm and twisting it sharply.

“
Ow!
” Elizabeth started to shake all over.

“Careful,” said Oliver quietly. Looking closely at Emalie, he saw the faintest glimmer of red in her eyes. He'd seen that before, when she entered a deep Orani state. He wasn't sure what it meant, but when it happened, Oliver felt a strong connection to her, like they bonded on some dark level. It was nice, but also dangerous for Emalie.

Drops of blood escaped the wound, running down Elizabeth's arm and falling. As the first landed in the Mortar, white smoke began to rise.

After four drops had fallen, Emalie nodded, and Tammy swooped in and snatched her daughter from the circle, immediately pressing a towel to the wound. They retreated to a nearby couch and sat, Tammy rubbing Elizabeth's shoulders as she broke down into sobs.

“It's okay, Lizzie, it's over.…” Tammy said quietly.

“Thanks, Liz,” Dean said meekly, but neither his sister nor his mom replied.

Emalie sat down. Oliver and Dean stepped into the circle and sat with her around the Mortar. Jenette floated between Oliver and Dean. Emalie picked up a wooden spoon and mixed the contents together. Then the four joined hands.

The white smoke increased, curling upward and forming a disc above. The disc swirled around a hollow center, and in it an image appeared in white: a handprint with hollow spots on each fingertip. After a moment, the image faded and the smoke dissolved.

“All right, Dean,” said Emalie, “supposedly your master's been marked again.”

“A lot of good it's done us so far,” Dean groaned, even as he nodded. “Thanks for doing that, though. Not that we know if it even works.”

They had been performing the master location spell once a month since February. It could only be done during the waxing moon, and only lasted one lunar cycle. The spell required the blood of the direct relative nearest in age to Dean, and so each time they had to go through this torturous ordeal of drawing Elizabeth's blood. And they had to keep doing it because, so far, they had not seen anyone with that handprint “mark” that had appeared in the smoke, the mark that the library Codex had said would appear
above all concealments
. They weren't even sure if the spell was working at all.

Further, Dean had yet to receive any orders from his master. It was almost as if he didn't have one, but Oliver knew that was impossible. There was a master out there somewhere.

“Well, all we can do is keep our eyes peeled,” Oliver offered, “and hope we see it. Sooner or later, your master's got to at least come around to check up on you.”

“Right,” Dean said glumly. “
There's
something to look forward to.”

Tammy and Elizabeth were moving to the stairs. “I don't want to do this anymore!” Elizabeth said, her voice muffled by Tammy's shoulder.

Dean's face fell. “We should maybe get out of here for a while.”

“I need to get home, anyway,” said Emalie, wiping the red pasty residue out of the Mortar with a rag.

“Me, too,” added Jenette.

They headed upstairs and cleared the dishes from the table before making their way to the door. Elizabeth and Kyle were in the living room, watching TV with Mitch.

“See ya,” Dean said halfheartedly.

“Thanks for dinner, Ms. Aunders,” added Emalie.

“Okay,” Tammy called from the kitchen. She'd finished spraying and wiping down every surface with a bottle of bleach and was now pouring herself a large glass of red wine, her yellow rubber gloves still on.

Oliver was glad to get outside and to see that the sun had finally set.

“Have a good trip, you guys,” said Jenette.

“Yeah,” said Oliver. “See you in a couple weeks.”

“I guess,” Jenette moaned. “But if you need me for anything, Oliver, you can always summon me.… Emalie, I'll come find you the next time I can get away, okay?”

“Sure,” said Emalie, not sounding very excited.

“'Kay, 'bye.” Jenette slithered off into the evening gloom.

Emalie watched her go, then turned to Oliver and Dean. “Okay, I have something to tell you guys while we walk home.” They zigzagged through the evening streets, still busy with humans enjoying the night. Emalie spoke slowly. “You guys know I've been working my way through my mom's old notebooks, with my great-aunt Kathleen.”

“How's that been going?” Dean asked.

“Good,” Emalie replied. “We've been learning all this cool stuff, like how to read people's thoughts and get inside their heads. Don't worry,” she said, “I'm not inside
your
heads.”

Oliver smiled, but the idea made him nervous. If Emalie were in his head, she might notice how much he thought about, well, Emalie.

“So,” Emalie continued, “we've also been trying to figure out what my mom was up to when she left. I've told you that I have dreams sometimes, where it seems like I'm with her, in her head, and we're in these old places.… Well, I—I'm pretty sure that when she left two years ago, she didn't mean to be gone forever.”

“So what happened?” asked Dean.

“She ran into trouble,” Emalie said darkly. “And now, well, she's either trapped somewhere, or maybe a prisoner, I'm not sure.”

“Any idea where?” Oliver asked. He felt a flurry of excitement at the idea, glad for Emalie, and almost jealous. It reminded him of his own human parents, who might be out there somewhere.…

“No,” Emalie continued, “but I think we figured out where she was when she disappeared. She was looking for someone named Selene. I don't really know who that is—”

“Selene?” said Oliver. It sounded familiar.… “That's who Désirée was talking about last time we saw her.”

“I don't remember that,” said Dean.

“Well,” Oliver continued awkwardly, “she whispered it in my ear.”

Emalie looked over. “Dead Désirée whispered in your ear?”

“Well, sort of … yeah. It was weird…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Just tell us what she said.”

“Right.” Oliver tried to remember the exact wording. “It was, um:
Selene is best heard through the fires that burn cold
.”

“What does that mean?” asked Dean.

Oliver shrugged. “I don't know. Except, with Désirée, it probably means, like, three things at once. But it seems like we're supposed to meet Selene, or talk to her, or something.”

“I think she's in danger,” added Emalie.

“Who?” Dean asked. “Your mom or Selene?”

“Well, both … I think my mom thought that Selene was in danger … and I think I know where she went to find her.”

“Where?” asked Oliver.

“Italy. A town called Fortuna.”

Oliver stopped. “Wait, Fortuna?” He couldn't believe the coincidence. “There's a town called Fortuna above the gates to Morosia.”

Emalie nodded. “That's probably it. The town is at the base of some old volcano called Morta. In ancient mythology it was supposed to be an entrance to the Underworld.”

“Morosia is built beneath Mount Morta,” Oliver confirmed. “That's right where we'll be in a couple days.”

“Well,” said Emalie, “I'm going, too.”

“No way!” Dean exclaimed. “How?”

“My dad is going to be out on the salmon boats for two weeks,” Emalie explained, “so Great-Aunt Kathleen is taking me to Italy. She's calling it a cultural trip, but we're really going to look for this Selene person—”

“And your mom,” Dean added, “right?”

Emalie shrugged. “I don't want to get my hopes up.…”

“This is great!” said Dean. He turned to Oliver, who was busy trying to keep a calm, cool face rather than show how excited this news made him. “Do you think we'll be able to get away from your family for a bit while we're there?”

“Yeah, shouldn't be a problem,” said Oliver, thinking about how things had been with his family lately. “We can meet up in Fortuna.”

Emalie nodded. “Excellent.”

A bright dinging sounded from up the street. “Guys,” said Dean, his voice low with reverence. “I think I hear…”

Oliver smiled. “The sound of Choco Tacos,” he agreed with the slight upward turn of his mouth that was his biggest smile.

“You guys are dorks,” Emalie chided, stepping away.

The little ice-cream truck approached, playing its tinny, happy music, and yet, was it really happy? There was something just a bit odd about the way it warbled ever so slightly off-key, like it might not be a good idea to be out alone when this ice-cream man came along.

And that was true, because as the truck pulled up, Oliver and Dean saw that the driver was Bane's friend Ty Gimble. He had his hair comically slicked back, a pointy white cap on his head, and a closed-mouth grin to hide any features that might worry the customers.

A gaggle of little kids ran ahead of Oliver and Dean. Ty grinned at the humans. “Hey there, kiddies! Who's hungry?”

Even Bane was jealous of Ty's job. Sure, Ty had to cruise the streets doling out ice cream to human kids and their annoying parents during dusk, but then, once night fell, it was almost guaranteed that he would find a child—or if he was lucky, two—still making their way home and hungry for a snack. The rectangular window of the ice-cream truck was just wide enough for Ty to pull two smaller kids through and stuff them into the freezer units before their expectant ice-cream smiles could turn into terrified screams.