Bone Cold: A Soul Shamans Novel (Volume 2) (12 page)

***

Fifteen minutes later, I was showered, dressed, and fueled by an instant cup of coffee. John leaned over and popped open the passenger door, and I climbed inside to the scent of cinnamon and aftershave. John’s uneven stubble was gone, replaced by smooth skin that only emphasized his sharp jawline.

“I don’t think we ever properly introduced ourselves.” I chomped into one of Mom’s cookies I’d snatched from the kitchen. “I’m Holly.”

“I know your name, and you know mine.” He put the car into reverse and turned the SUV onto the road, flicking on his headlights against the still-dark sky.

“I do not.” I leaned back and kicked up my shoes on the dash, thick boots John had insisted I wear for training. “I know it can’t be John Smith, so why don’t you tell me your real name?”

“There are actually people named John Smith in the world,” he said, reaching for the knob on his stereo system. Another band blasted out of his speakers. Not Metallica this time, but it might as well have been. Screaming guitars and pounding drums.

“Yeah, but you’re not one of them,” I yelled over the music.

His lips just twitched as he drove on.

When he pulled the truck in front of the warehouse, the place didn’t hold the same unease it had the night before. The chipped metal and bending wires didn’t give off a creepy vibe in the fresh light of day. Instead, it just looked sad and in dire need of repair. The cars that had flooded the lot last night were gone, save for a few that were being packed full of computers and weapons by some of Dad’s team members. Dad was off to one side, talking to an older man with his lips pulled down into a frown.

We climbed out of the car and crunched through the snow toward Dad. When we got a few feet away, his voice cut off, and he gave a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Just one moment,” he said to the man before turning to me. “Good morning, Holly. John will be giving you a short training lesson while I take care of some things.”

“You said you were going to train me,” I said, my heart dropping. After all this, and he was going to bail on me again.

“I have some urgent business to attend to.” He turned his gaze to John. “Why don’t you show her how to handle the weapon and explain how the magic works?”

John opened his mouth to argue, but then nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

“But I don’t want him to train me. I want
you
to.” I blinked back tears. I didn’t want any of these men to see me cry, but that didn’t stop the crack from creeping into my voice.

Dad sighed and turned back to the man, dismissing us.

“Come on.” John said, dropping a hand onto my shoulder. “I can show you the basics for now.”

“Fine,” I said, shoving his hand off my arm. As he led me around the side of the warehouse, I shot a glance behind me at my dad. He was back to his deep conversation with the older man, not even the slightest of glances given my way. All he’d done since he arrived back in Seaport was disappear without a word or pawn me off onto someone else. I didn’t come here for
John
to train me. I came here for my dad.

John led me inside the warehouse, which was now empty, save for a few discarded rifles left by the door. He grabbed one and tossed it my way. With a yelp, I threw up my hands to stop it from smacking me in the face, closing my hands around the steel body when it knocked against my palms.

“Thanks for the warning, Rambo,” I said with an eye roll. The rifle felt heavy in my hands. Dangerous. Powerful.

“You can call me John.”

“Whatever,” I said. “Your name isn’t John so that’s not what I’m going to call you.”

He sighed. “You’re making me regret offering to train you.”

“You didn’t offer,” I shot back. “My dad ordered you to do it.”

“If I hadn’t snapped your astral projection last night, you’d be dead,” he said, tone holding a warning. “So, why don’t you stop acting like a child and realize how serious this is. If one of these new spirits attacks you, your powers will do nothing to stop it. If you want me to train you, I’ll train you. But you’ve got to check your attitude at the door. If not, I’m just as happy to take you right back home, and don’t think your dad will notice if you’ve left.”

Flinching, I took a step back. “That was harsh.”

“If that’s what it takes to get through to you, then it was worth it.”

We stared at each other for a several long moments. He didn’t blink, and neither did I. It didn’t help that I knew he was right. Finally, I gave a heavy sigh and hefted the gun higher in my arms.

“Fine, let’s do this,” I said.

He gave a nod and lifted another gun from the ground. Stepping up to a blank wall, he drew a pair of keys from the depths of his pockets and dug the edges into the chipped sheetrock, drawing a big uneven circle twice the size of my head.

“Alright, that’s going to be your target. It’s way too large to mimic a real spirit, but it’s a start. You’re probably going to shoot like shit for now.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He ignored my remark and continued, pacing back and forth in front of me as he pointed at the spot on the wall. “Now, it’s important to know that this only works if you shoot their heads. It’s the only part of their body that’s solid enough to do any real damage. We don’t know if they even have arms or legs or anything else. For all we know, the head
is
the body, and everything else is just shadows.”

“That makes no sense.” I squinted my eyes down the barrel. “Spirits are massive.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to forget that for now and concentrate on their heads, ‘cause that’s the only thing our weapons can wound.”

“Got it.” I mimed pulling the trigger and imagined my shot blowing up a spirit’s head in a massive burst of flames.

“Now, the tricky bit is astral projecting while still keeping command of your body.” John paused in front of me and tapped the end of my rifle. “You want to be able to see the spirit without leaving your real body behind, so that you can still control it.”

“This is making my head hurt.” I lowered the gun and frowned. Until now, I hadn’t thought much about the logistics of Dad’s attack routine, but now that John was going over it with me, it seemed way too complicated. In order to see the spirit and aim at its head, we had to be in the Borderland. But if we were in the Borderland, how could we shoot the gun?

“How does the gun even damage the spirit? It’s not liking we’re taking it into the Borderland with us, right?” I asked. “That’s not possible, is it?”

“The gun shoots into the Borderland from the real world. It’s using powerful enough magic that it rips a temporary hole in the veil between our worlds, allowing the magical bullet to go through.”

His words brought to mind what George believed about the Borderland collapsing underneath the weight of all the unbalanced karma or whatever it was. If this gun actually made a hole in the veil, then could she be right in her worry? Would the rifle leave a lasting mark and cause the death of more than just the spirits on the other side?

John turned toward the wall and pointed at the target. “For now, we’re just going to focus on getting you to shoot the weapon in the general direction of that circle on the wall. In the real world for now. We can move on to the Borderland later.”

“Again with the confidence,” I said, brushing thoughts of George aside.

John strode over to me and flicked a switch on my weapon. Instantly, the metal sprang to life in my hands. A buzzing snaked from my fingertips all the way into my chest, sparking with every beat of my heart. I sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at John, who gave me a genuine smile for the very first time since I’d met him.

“It’s a weird sensation,” he said. “That’s the magic.”

“How’d you get shaman magic into a weapon?” I asked, gritting my teeth against the trembling rifle in my hands. It may have been magic, but it was unnerving.

“I don’t know the logistics. Something your dad and the Congress figured out together.” John moved to my side and flicked the switch of his own gun. He took several steps back, aimed his rifle, and fired. A
whoosh
sailed by my ear, and a moment later, the wall caved in by an invisible force, like a fist had punch a hole right where John had drawn the fake spirit face.

“Good shot,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Though I didn’t expect you to blow the wall in.”

“It’s powerful magic.” He lowered his gun and gestured to me. “So be careful with it.”

“My turn?” My hands felt slick as I raised the rifle to my shoulder.

“Have at it.”

Squinting my eye, I aimed the end of the rifle at the wall, right at the spot where John had made the massive dent. The world slowed around me as I concentrated on my aim. Just a hair to the left. That was it. My finger slipped along the trigger, and I pulled. The force of the blow slammed into my shoulder. My feet tripped underneath me, and I fell flat on my ass just as the shot blew into the wall at least five inches from where I’d aimed.

John tipped back his head and let out a bellowing laugh. “Good one. Looks like you’re going to need some practice.”

Wincing, I stood and rubbed my shoulder where it throbbed from the gun’s recoil. “Does it always hurt that bad?”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said as he moved over the wall to draw another circle. “Besides, now you know it’s coming. Ready to try again?”

CHAPTER 11

A
couple hours later, I had a pretty good handle on using the magic spirit-destroying weapon, having made fifteen holes in the side of the warehouse. John continued to practice with me until my shoulder throbbed to the beat of the Batman theme song, and a bruise the size of Saturn poked out of my skin.

“I think that’ll have to do,” he said with a nod when I finally shot the drawn face right in the center of the bulls-eye. “Your aim has really improved.”

John held open the door to outside, and fresh air blew in on a cloud of mist. The temperature still hovered at freezing, but the cool air on my hot skin was welcome. John had really put me through my paces, and my muscles were already starting to groan from the unexpected exercise.

We crunched out onto the frozen ground where my dad was putting a few lingering boxes in the back of his truck. He turned and clamped John on the shoulder, gave him a nod.

“Thanks for helping out, John.” Dad turned to me, but barely met my eyes. “We’ve got to head out now, so that’s all the training we’re going to be able to give you. Should be enough to help you get by until your mom gets back.”

“You’re leaving already?” I asked with a frown.

“We’ve got to move on,” he said. “That’s the job.”

“How can you be sure all the spirits are gone?” I asked.

“They’re gone,” he said with a grim smile. “And they’ll stay gone. But just in case, John will give you my number, and you can give us a call if something else happens around here.”

“And that’s it?” My voice rose as my hands clenched by my sides. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

“Holly, I’ve done all I can.” A sad smile ghosted his lips. “I’m sorry for everything, but your mother has made things very clear.”

My neck prickled. “What has she made clear?”

“She doesn’t want me to be part of your lives.” He took a step back and turned away. “And it’s for the best. I need to move on. This job isn’t for those who like to stay in one place for too long.”

“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” I said. “I just want you to talk to me for longer than two minutes and explain where the hell you’ve been, why you decided to come back now, and why you had no intention of even
seeing
me until I was accidentally where you happened to show up a few times.”

At that, John strode off to his car and hopped inside. I guessed he didn’t want to be witness to this horrible rejection. Dad stayed silent, the only sound in the still morning the sigh slipping from his lungs.

“I’m sorry, Holly.” He shook his head and opened the truck door. “Maybe one day things will be different, but for now I need to be on my way.”

***

Things in Seaport stayed eerily quiet for the next two days. Nathan was too busy to hang out with the comic convention only a day away, but I knew it was more than that. Ever since the night of the attack, he’d been different. I couldn’t blame him. It had been my fault once again that he’d gotten hurt, and maybe he was finally realizing how dangerous it was to be involved with me.

Laura kept bringing up her worry over the repercussions of my dad’s tactics, but there was nothing we could do about it now. Plus, she had to admit his rifles had done the trick. The spirits were gone, and though there were reports of fainting spells and panic attacks and strange men in black from the night the spirits roamed the streets, not one complaint had been heard since.

Seaport was safe, thanks to my dad.

After school, I tried to call Mom yet again, but her cell went straight to voicemail. She’d been out of commission since the last time we’d spoken, and the lump in my stomach wasn’t getting any smaller. Anthony Lombardi wasn’t out there, so what the hell was she chasing down?