Dead of Night (Ghosts & Magic #1) (33 page)

I still had my fingers on the mask, trying to pull it away. The deal made, it contracted in on itself, the roots shrinking down until it was once again just enough to cover my face. I held it in my hand and looked down at it. I saw a flicker of motion in the eyes. The presence, the voice, was gone.

"Conor?" Mr. Black asked again. He was motionless. He didn't even blink.

My eyes shifted back and forth, between him and the mask. Had he given it to me of his own volition, or had the gift been arranged by a different kind of power?

"You were right. It does have power. It will help."

"Good. I want to be sure you understand me, Conor. I'm grateful to you for taking care of Danelle, for being her friend. I'm just as grateful to you for helping Mei's niece. Yes, I know about her. I don't know what fates aligned to involve you in this, but I am thankful that you are." His eyes narrowed, and his whole expression grew dark. "That doesn't make us friends, and we certainly aren't peers. I will help you deal with Tarakona in any way I can, save direct intervention. I can't risk attracting the attention of the other Houses, or having them think I am making a strong move that could be misinterpreted. It would be bad for everyone."

I knew by everyone, he didn't just mean the Houses. He reached into a pocket and threw me a cell phone.
 

"If you need anything, pick up the phone. It will call my negotiator, Adams. He will be instructed to assist you. Once this business is done, don't try to contact me again. Don't think that because I respect you and your honesty, that because you were a good friend to Danelle, that I care for you one bit. Death magic is a stain, and you have already outlived your welcome on my Earth."

I felt a shiver run down the base of my spine. His Earth?
 

"Mr. Black, I need to know where Tarakona is, or at least how to find him. You can send me back to Boston, and the mask will come in handy, but I called to see if you could help lead me to the bastard."

Black shook his head. "No. Not directly. Ten years ago he had Mei's sister killed, and left his mark so that she would know who was responsible. Even after all of this time, we've been unable to identify him. Even as he carries out his so-called revenge, he remains behind the scenes, directing his puppets from the shadows. Puppets have strings, and strings can be traced back to their origin."

They could also be cut.

He reached into his pocket again, and withdrew a piece of paper. I watched wisps of smoke rise from it, and then he handed it to me. An address was burned into it in a neat script.

"That is the address of an office building outside Boston. It's one of the many server farms that help power the Machine. You'll find a woman there, her name is Prithi Sharma. She's the admin who trapped you inside."

"How do you know that?"

"Tarakona isn't the only one with people in his pocket. I have a contact at the same facility, who traced the code commit back to her. Pay her a visit, find out who she knows. Connect the dots."

I shoved the paper in the pocket of my trench. "Just one more thing?" I asked, putting my hand to my forehead. "We were attacked by werewolves, but they weren't normal. They changed from human to were right in front of me. I watched one take a bullet point-blank to the head and get back to its feet."

"Skinwalkers. I always suspected, but had no proof. The Navajo have legends of men who can turn into animals, that can only be killed by speaking their name."

"I have to know their name to kill them?"

"Legends are just that, in many cases an exaggeration. You don't need a stake to kill a vampire, or silver to kill a werewolf. It is likely they have a powerful healing factor, allowing them to take a beating, and a bullet or two. There's nothing in this world that's invincible."

I reached into my pocket and took hold of the dice. "Where the hell did they come from? Is it possible Tarakona created them somehow?"

"As I said, even after all these years he is a mystery to me. Consider that anything is possible. I've given you what help I can. I'm depending on you to solve Tarakona. I'm depending on you to save Mei's legacy, and keep House Red alive. I'm depending on you to avenge the death of my daughter."

He stepped towards me, reaching out and putting his hand on my shoulder. Just like before, he delivered me from one place to another in a split second, leaving me a little dizzy and disoriented. I blinked a few times, and felt my breath catch in my throat.

Larry was on the floor, his insides ripped out, his blood splattered around him.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Souvenir.

I gripped the dice tight in my fist, and started backing towards a corner.

 
"Jin? Amos?"

I didn't dare say it too loud. There was no way to know if I was alone, and the damage to Larry looked like it had come from a werewolf. Or a skinwalker.

Nobody answered. Had Mr. Black known about the carnage here? Had he seen it when he dropped me off? I didn't think it mattered to him. As far as he was concerned, figuring out this mess was my responsibility. If I failed... it was clear he didn't think Tarakona could touch him. The way he teleported me, I had to agree.

"Jin? Amos?"

I said it a little louder.
 

Nobody answered.

Shit.

I moved forward, headed towards the short corner where the rest of Larry's apartment waited. I kept my fist to my mouth, ready to activate the dice. I held the mask in my other hand, and considered whether or not I should put it on. I had accepted the deal. That didn't mean I wasn't nervous about using it.

I reached the corner. The bedroom door was open, and I leaned in.

The muzzle of the rifle came first, appearing on the other side of the bed. Amos' head followed after. His hair was soaked with sweat, mixing with blood on his forehead.
 

"Amos?"

"Baldie." He coughed, a heavy cough. It sounded like his lungs were filled with fluid.

He pushed himself to his feet. His duster was torn, and so was his shirt under it. There was a strange absence of blood.

"What the fuck happened?"

"One of those bitch-ass monsters showed up. Opened fire, but not before it gutted Larry. Fucking threw me clear across the room, go check the wall, plaster's all cracked. Took Jin and left. Managed to crawl in here, get a defensive position for when it came back to finish me off. It didn't come back." He put his hand to the tattered remains of his shirt. "Good thing for me, at least some of this tub is kevlar. Left scratches in it."

That meant Tarakona had the two things he wanted most. Where was he going to take them?
 

"Have a nice chat with Black? I see he gave you a souvenir."

I was still holding the mask in my hand. "You knew he came for me?"

"Heard he does that sometimes, usually to people he wants to punish himself. Jin was worried about you. I wasn't. Not the way Larry reacted to the name. Larry was about to get me a drink when shithead burst in. How the fuck did they find us?"

"Maybe they never lost us." It was possible they had been tailing us the whole time, watching to see what we would do before they made a move.
 

"Christ." He walked around the bed. "What's our next move, after I get my drink?"

I found the paper in my pocket. "Black gave me an address. The Machine admin who fucked Dannie and me over works there. We need to go pay her a visit, get her to tell us what she knows. We need to do it fast. Tarakona wants Jin alive for something, that doesn't mean he wants her alive for long. If he makes skinwalkers, and runs with ferals, who knows what kind of other crazy ritual bullshit he's into."

We moved back out into the living room. I looked down at Larry's corpse, and then over at the wall. There was a massive dent in it.

"Sounds like a plan, I'm just gonna get my-" He stopped talking, and raised the rifle. "Get back in the bedroom."

I didn't question him. We started backing away, ducking into the bedroom at the same time someone kicked in the door, and the flames of a pyromancer filled the room.
 

"Behind the bed," Amos said.
 

I started towards it when I saw a face appear in the window. "Amos!"

He turned and opened fire, rounds shredding the glass and digging into the person behind it. The gunfire was going to draw attention from the others in the room. I took the mask, and put it to my face.

It was warm. I felt the tendrils of bone growing out and wrapping themselves around me. I heard the malicious chuckling within the cries of souls.
 

"What the-" I heard Amos say.
 

The dice were warm in my hand. I put them to my lips. How many had come in the front? At least three.
 

We know. We hunger.

I threw them out the door. I could hear the laughter grow more distant. I could feel the connection between the mask and the dice.
 

Tooth, and Fire. Three of the attackers cried out, including the pyro. I could sense the spirit's elation, his anticipation of their deaths.
 

I moved out into the room.

The pyro was on his back, his bare arms covered in deep bruises, his face dotted with oozing sores. He turned his head to look towards me, mouth twisted in agony.
 

A fourth assailant appeared in the doorway. He swung his handgun my way, and hesitated when he saw the mask. I used it to my advantage, stepping into him and hitting him hard in the gut. When he doubled-over, I slammed him hard in the side of the head with both fists, knocking him to the ground.
 

A tasty treat. The bargain is made.
 

The power of a soul for the power of a soul.

"Baron, we need to get the fuck out of here," Amos bellowed from the bedroom. "Got four more coming up the fire escape, who knows how many through the front." He sent off a round of fire that only lasted a couple of seconds. "Shit! And I'm out of fucking ammo!"

I heard the voices of the souls in my head. They were clearer now, their cries identifiable. The two ogres, the vampire, the orcs from the Greens, the pyro and his buddies. Every soul the dice had taken in the last forty-eight hours.
 

"The pyro."
 

A good selection. A strong soul.
 

I felt his energy, his life pour into me. So strong, so healthy. It was almost enough to make me cry. His power was mine now. I could hear sounds I had never heard before, fields I had never been able to recognize or understand.
 

Amos came out of the bedroom. "You fucker."
 

He started charging.

"Amos, wait. It's me. Baron. Stop." I held my hand up.
 

He stopped coming, looking confused as hell.
 

"Grab the guns. As many as you can." We were going to need them. I bent down and found the pyro's sidearm, pulling it from the back of his pants.
 

Amos started lifting weapons from the others. I tapped into the fields, and brought the magic into me. Magic I had never held before.
 

Fire magic.
 

I walked over to the window. I brought the gun up, and fired straight out, hitting the side of the building across the street.

The bullet didn't matter. The muzzle flash did. I caught it in the power and redirected it, spreading it wide, multiplying it, and sending it down the fire escape. I heard shouts of warning, and then screams of pain.
 

You like it, yes?

My heart was pounding. My healthy, strong heart.

"Yes."

It was like a drug. It scared me and thrilled me at the same time.
 

"This way is clear," I said, looking out the window. Our attackers were spread across the fire escape, their bodies smoldering.
 

Amos trundled over, laden with the weapons he'd lifted from the dead ghosts. "Holy fucking shit."

"Wait."

There was no telling if there were more coming up the other way. I fired the gun again, catching the flames and sending them out into the hallway, burying them into the walls of the apartment, and setting the whole place on fire.
 

"Let's go."

Amos barely fit his fat ass through the window, twisting and cursing while he shifted his bulk around. I slipped through after, still in amazed shock to feel healthy and whole. We started descending. A couple of the bad guys were down and not out, their bodies quivering in pain, soft gasps escaping between their lips. Amos took pity on them with a bullet each.

"Sent a whole damn army, when it could have just tore us to shreds with those claws. All it wanted was Jin."

"Did it say anything to her?"

"No. Shithead was in and out in fifteen seconds."

It didn't care about us. We weren't even enough of a threat to be worth dealing with personally.
 

We reached the ground. There was no sign of any more assholes incoming. I guess Tarakona had thought ten would be enough. I was glad to prove him wrong.

"You stuck like that?" Amos asked, looking me over again.
 

"I don't know. It didn't come with a manual."
 

I could still feel the presence of the spirit, its soft laughter persistent atop the screams of the souls, and the sounds of the magic fields. It was enjoying the reaping, the death and chaos and destruction.

"How long?" I tried to ask it. I didn't mind staying this way for as long as I could. I hadn't realized how shitty I truly felt most of the time, until the power of the mask and the pyromancer's soul had taken the illness away.

Until it is gone.

It was a cryptic answer. It was all the answer I was going to get. I couldn't tell how much power remained, which meant it was going to be as much of a crapshoot as the dice.
 

"How long what?" Amos asked.

"I wasn't talking to you."