Blue Moon (11 page)

Tark was silent. “Well, you could have just slashed his throat and been done with it,” he muttered. Sabin's eyes widened, and Tark ducked his head. “Sorry."

"I was bored,” Sabin growled.

Tark froze again, thinking of past victims and Sabin's ways of dealing with them. He shuddered then started shoveling with renewed enthusiasm.

"He's special,” Sabin continued. “Fate has spared him, and at the hands of our lovely Libby. I want to know why."

He'd tied the man up near Libby's house so that when she found out and was told what the man looked like she'd be frightened and realize there was no escaping him, that no one could save her. Then, the train scheduled to kill him well before Libby would have been out and about had broken down. It intrigued him that some force had intervened to save this one's life when none of his other victims had been given such treatment.

Sabin looked down at the stone, ran his fingers over the delicately done characters. The engraved roses felt satiny, if stony cold.

"Rita Halstead,” he whispered as his fingers traced the words. “1973-1996. Beloved Daughter and Sister. Hush, the princess merely sleeps."

"Is that what it really says?"

"Oh, yes. Our Libby had a hand in that. Ever the poet, our pretty Libby."

Sabin watched Tark's awkward movements. The creature had possessed that body for a few years now but had not yet gotten used to moving about in it. He panted as he worked, like the middle-aged man his body once belonged to, his eyes, gold like Sabin's, alone betraying that he was special.

The shovel thunked against the coffin lid, and Sabin set to again, helping his servant clean the dirt off.

"I can't believe it,” Tark said. “All that money on an expensive stone, and they just plunked the coffin into the ground."

"From what Lib's told me about her family, I can.” Sabin laughed, and jerked the lid open.

"Oh, God!” Tark gasped when the smell hit him.

"Hey, Rita, baby. I've brought you a little prezzie."

He took a bottle from his pocket.

For the past several years, Sabin had been soaking Rita's eyes in one of his jars of magic. Just before going to bed this morning, he'd taken them out and placed them in a small plastic container. He opened this container now, and an eerie green glow illuminated his face. It was a crue* * * *ight, and showed the scars from burns that would not heal.

He took one eye out and carefully pushed back the remains of her eyelid—they'd been sealed shut over a fake eye. He fished for the glass ball and threw it over his shoulder. Tark ducked. Sabin placed the real eye back in its socket.

"I hope I guessed right, yes, I do,” he told her as he repeated the process with the other eye. “I'd hate to have put the eyes in the wrong sockets. It'd really mess up your sense of perspective.” He paused then stuck his finger deep inside the second socket, feeling around. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “I hope I didn't scramble your brains up too much looking for it.” He looked over at Tark. “But then, she wasn't really all that bright anyway, so a little brain damage won't hurt her."

He slid the eye into its place and began chanting under his breath.

"I call you, she who last gave this body breath, she who last gave this body life. I whisper for you in the darkness, and you are drawn. Sleep no more and come and do me the service I have chosen you for."

He muttered some more words under his breath, and rotted flesh and bones began to knit and heal, grave dirt cracked away. He didn't bother to fix her clothes. He struggled, trying to get the hair color correct, but instead of the bright, vibrant red he remembered it stayed a dead, straight dark garnet. Her skin also refused to quite cooperate, but became fine and cool as blue-tinted porcelain, hairless and perfect. He studied her for a moment, her beautiful face, her sensuous figure. He bent over and kissed her.

"Breathe,” he said.

Her eyes opened. They were green-gold, and they glowed. She obeyed his command, taking a deep breath as she sat up.

"There is so little magic left in the world,” he said, caressing her face. Her expression was as distant as the bottom of the sea. “You have to find a well of it, a place where the ley lines haven't completely dried up. To assume all the magic left with Merlin would be a mistake, any more than to assume that the people in the magic world don't even have matches. There's overlapping, as in everything. You just have to look for it.” He stood, and helped her up out of the grave. “Tark, meet Rita."

The woman blinked, her features, stiff from disuse, showed confusion. “Rita?"

Tark looked worried. Sabin said, with just a hint of bravado, “Don't worry. She's just confused, that's all."

He grabbed some clothes out of a bag and handed them to her. A pair of panties she'd once left behind after an afternoon of sex, washed, of course. A black mini-skirt her sister had bought that had somehow ended up among his things. A tank-top from his own wardrobe. She put them on with golem-like movements.

"She is magnificent,” Tark said. He had watched her dress with more than a little interest.

"Hands off,” Sabin said. “She has a purpose to serve, don't you, my pet?"

She looked at him, her eyes and face without a spark of life in them. He put his hands on her rib cage and pulled her close. Her face just an inch away from his, he whispered, “Lead us."

"What about the ... uh.” Tark said, pointing at the grave.

"I've hired someone to take care of it,” Sabin said easily, and a pair of Terfa came out of the shadows. Tark had thought they were just short trees. He gulped.

She gave one nod and pulled away. She leapt over her open grave and kept going. They gathered their things and followed her as she cut across lawns and roads, making as straight a line as possible. They stopped a few hours before morning, because Sabin knew they wouldn't find another hotel before dawn.

"Can't we take a car?” Tark panted as he threw himself on the bed.

"No,” Sabin said, “that's not how things are done. You know better."

Rita chose a corner of the room and slid down the wall into it, her knees up to her chin. If she took her eyes off either of her captors, Sabin never knew; his dreams were colored by the green glow of her eyes.

They walked for two nights, sleeping during the days, as Sabin hated sunlight, and reached the entrance to a cave hidden deep in the forest. It was a creepy, out-of-the-way place, and hard enough to get to that most casual hikers or hunters would never bother.

Rita went in first. She stopped in front of a seal, her eyes glowing brightly, illuminating the carved stone. Tark brushed dirt and thick dust webs off the surface with his hands, then turned and nodded at Sabin. She had led them to the right place.

Sabin came up behind her and placed his hands over her temples. Now for the second part of the spell he had placed on her eyes.

"No one knows where the soul of Carsisus walks, but I declare to you now that you are that great sorceress. Already you have led us to the place only she knew about. Think back, think back a hundred years, a thousand years, let your mind wander until the day you stood here with the three and sealed this tomb."

"Yes,” Rita whispered. “The Shadow Kind gone forever, the land freed from their evil."

"What did you do when you were Carsisus? What did you press?"

Rita ran her hands along the carving, touching two places. Circles etched in the rock slid in with a grinding of dust and stone, and a handle appeared in the middle of the door. Tark reached forward to grab it, but Rita pushed him away.

"Fool, charging in where you have no knowledge."

She pushed the handle back in. A second one appeared. She twisted it left, then right, and it broke off in her hand. The seal cracked open, a huge slab of it fell to the ground. It was unrepairable.

"This is not what we planned,” Tark said, for he wanted the choice of fleeing the denizens in the chamber below and locking them back in.

"Still, it serves our purpose,” Sabin said. “Come."

He slapped Rita lightly, and she snapped out of the trance. She backed away a step, but Sabin took her arm and forced her to walk ahead of him, down the steps and to the chamber below, her eyes serving as a torch.

The steps were clean, but the air still seemed thick and choking. Sabin felt as if the darkness had taken substance and was entering him with every breath. He welcomed it, for the darkness already inside would rival the pitch black of this cavern.

Unlike his mother, who righteously considered herself injured, Sabin knew he was evil. It pleased him greatly, for he felt it was easy to be partially good or even all good, but pure, dark malevolence was an art.

They reached the bottom of the stairs; Rita faltered to a stop and would not go farther.

"Hold her,” he said to Tark, for she still had many uses as far as he was concerned.

He took a small jar out of his pocket. The substance in it glowed a deep red. He held it for a moment, loath to let it go, for it was rare magic that he had no more of at home. He took a breath and set it on the stone floor in front of him. It was an offering to his mother's servants, who had been locked in this prison, forgotten when the worlds were parted.

"Hear me, Shadow Lord. Hear me, Shadow Kind. I am Sabin, son of the scourge of the dead. I may seem young by the reckoning of flesh, but I am old in my essence and would parley with you, for I respect the power of the Shadow."

"We can read your essence, Sabin-child, but what we see is diluted by time and the eating of mortals,” the darkness whispered. “You are no longer truly your mother's son. Why should we listen to you?"

"A blue moon comes and I, Sabin, purely my mother's son, know where to find the parting stone."

"Little witch-boy lies. The parting stone is hidden too well,” the darkness whispered to itself, arguing. “We would have felt it long ago if it was truly within reach."

"Oh, no,” Sabin said. “I know where it lies. I will have it in my hands in but a few days."

"What do you intend to do with it, witch child?"

"I intend to rejoin the worlds, and make it fit once more for Shadows. Think, Shadow Kind, what will happen when the worlds come together. Buildings will be smashed to pieces as they struggle to fit into the same spot, people will be crushed as the land shifts, fighting to regain some sort of shape. There will be much suffering, and darkness, and horror."

"Chaos,” the Shadows whispered, savoring the word. “Yes. When the two realities collide there will be much pleasure for our kind."

"I cannot fight this cause alone. There are only the three of us and a dozen Terfa. May I count on your armies to bring back the time of Shadow dreams?"

There was a soft chittering noise in the darkness. “Yes. The armies of Shadow and the goblin kindred will fight at your side. Tell us what you would have us do."

"Gladly,” Sabin said.

A few years before...?

The lab was cold, the paper-covered vinyl bed Libby sat down on colder.

"Okay, I'm going to blindfold you now,” the assistant, Todd, said.

"Why?” she asked. Her voice trembled, but she tried to make herself sound calm. She'd never done anything like this before and was feeling a bit shy and fluttery.

"So you can't see the objects. We want to make sure that your reactions to the stimuli are pure."

"Um, okay."

The cloth was pulled tight; she felt his hands smooth the cloth across her eyes, making sure there were no gaps. He pushed her back gently, hands took her ankles to pull her around. She lay perfectly flat on the cold surface and thought, This is what it must fee* * * *ike to be dead.

"What's your full name?” another graduate assistant asked, her voice light, friendly.

"Elizabeth Lorraine Halstead."

"So, are you Liz? Or Beth?"

"Libby."

"Okay, now, Libby,” she continued. “I'm going to pull your shirt up, just a little, so we can see your stomach."

She felt her T-shirt being pulled from the waistband of her jeans and folded up. She felt vulnerable and self-conscious. Was her skin clean? Did she look chubby?

"We're ready, doctor,” Todd said.

"Excellent,” the professor said.

When they'd met earlier he had seemed fatherly, nice. Now, she wondered if he was poised with something sharp, ready to cut into her tummy.

"Are you comfortable, Libby?"

She nodded, then said “Yeah” in case they weren't looking.

"Very good. Now, we're going to start our series of tests. We'll be placing various objects on your stomach, the insides of your arms and your forehead, and you will tell us how they make you feel. Most likely, you'll feel nothing, and if that's the case, that's exactly what you must tell us. You have no idea what results we're looking for, so the best way to help us is to be honest. I'm afraid these objects will be cold, but nothing we do will mark or penetrate your skin in any way. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

He patted her arm and moved away. “I am now about to select the first sample. I will show it to the camera, Lori will write down the name and keep record of the data, and Todd will tape the proceedings and help when needed."

Think of something else.
She was spinning herself a story about winning the lottery with a ticket found in a book when the first object broke her train of thought. It was cold and flat, a little larger than a half-dollar.

"Nothing,” she whispered.

Something else that rocked a little on rounded edges was placed on her stomach. She thought for a moment, then said, “Nothing."

The next object was very cold, far colder than the others, and heavy.

"I feel a bit sick. Like I'm going to throw up."

"Really?” Dr. Seward sounded surprised.

"Really!” she said, and began to sit up. Her stomach was roiling, and she wasn't sure if she'd make it ... but the object slid off, and the feeling stopped. Completely. She was pushed down again.

The next object was placed on her forehead. Suddenly, her skin felt hot. She could feel sweat forming.

"I feel very hot."