Ghostland (42 page)

She exhaled on a shaky sigh, and Javier nodded. “I believe you can ease up just a bit, Aubrey. At the moment we have more than enough blood for our purposes.”

Aubrey relaxed her grip. Blood trickled down Aisling’s neck, her own and Elena’s.

Javier glanced down at the circle around him, then over at where Elena lay in a pool of blood, the jets of her arterial spray having triggered and powered a larger circle, the one used to trap Zurael until he was bound.

“It’s quite ironic, really. The Church—operating under the erroneous assumption they own me and therefore I can’t possibly have anything to do with the dramatic increase in black magic ceremonies—whispered in my ear that I should make it known there’d be financial compensation if the mayor’s little Jezebel ended up as a sacrificial lamb on a certain night.” Javier chuckled. “Their plan
was
clever in some ways. Dear Luther coughed up the money to have you brought to Oakland, so their interest in you wasn’t obvious. Father Ursu was probably beside himself with joy when he caught a glimpse of your aura. I did warn you about his special talent. No doubt he was expecting it to be a waste of time, but people with your gift, and who might be considered disposable, aren’t that easy to come by.

“And Elena? I hope you don’t feel sorry for her, Aisling. Raisa spotted her leaving your house the other day and unwittingly told me about it, thinking it harmless gossip. It piqued my curiosity, as you can imagine.

“Elena was never really interested in learning why she was taken from Sinners. It took all of three minutes in her presence to figure out she wanted to make a deal with whoever was creating Ghost, form a partnership where she offered the services of her captive shamaness for guided tours into the spiritlands. It took another minute to convince her you’d figured out how to make Ghost. And by our fifth moment together, I’d sold her on the idea that you could be
persuaded
to cooperate if she only brought you here.

“It’s a shame I can’t risk letting you speak, Aisling. Unlike the vast majority of magic practitioners, I’m not in love with the sound of my own voice. But perhaps we’ll break the monologue up a bit by letting your demon talk. I’m curious. Beyond curious actually. I’m fascinated. And envious.”

Javier stepped to the boundary of the small protective circle he was in. His hands slid from the folds of his black robe. One of them was wrapped with white strips of cloth, dotted where blood had seeped through.

“Where to begin?” he asked, steepling his hands so the fingertips rested on his lips. “A name would be appropriate. I don’t need it with this particular entrapment spell, but I know just how much demons hate giving up their names.”

He touched a band of sigils circling his wrist. The forms were the same as those around Zurael’s neck. “Give me your name.”

Aisling ached as she watched Zurael fight the command. Sweat beaded on his temples, rolled down his cheeks and made her aware of the tears on her own face. What tiny bit of hope she’d held that he might be stronger than the spell binding him faded when he said, “Zurael en Caym.”

“An interesting name. I have volumes upon volumes of texts naming demons, and yours doesn’t resemble any of them. What type of entity are you?”

Zurael struggled against answering. The night Aisling called his name on the spirit winds, he’d seethed and raged, known true terror for the first time in his life. He would have killed her without a second thought. But now he realized how gentle her summons was, how much of his own will he’d retained compared to the compulsion of Javier’s spell.

He fought to remain silent. But the answer formed over and over, looped through his mind, growing louder and louder.

Javier grew impatient and asked a second time. Then a third.

Zurael became disassociated from his physical self. He became a spectator, watching as his lips parted and the words left his mouth. “I am Djinn.”

His eyes met Aisling’s and his heart wept at the sight of her tears, the guilt and anguish he read in her face.

Javier’s eyebrows drew together. “The word is vaguely familiar. I’m sure I’ve run across it.” He shrugged and tilted his head to the side. “Time enough to explore it later. What I’m interested in seeing is your true demon form. By all accounts you made quick work slaughtering my students. And then there are rumors Aisling was ejected from Sinners along with her companion—you, I suppose—which would explain the werewolf carcasses and the fact she lived through the experience. Show me what you look like.”

Because he was in his truest form, Zurael felt no compulsion to change. But he took on the demon image, hoped to be able to use the sharp talons and deadly tail to free Aisling.

If she broke the larger circle, the one containing him, it might free him from the entrapment spell. And freed, he could kill Javier without the fear of becoming
ifrit
.

“Impressive,” Javier said. “Can the Djinn take possession of a human body?”

“No,” Zurael said, conserving his strength by not forcing Javier to repeat the question for a second and third time.

“Too bad. I’m curious. How did Aisling summon you?”

Zurael fought against answering this. He didn’t want to reveal anything about her. But in the end he couldn’t prevent himself from betraying her. “She called my name on the spirit winds.”

“How is that possible?”

She is deeply connected to the ghostlands. She was born of them and can call the spirit winds at will.

Malahel en Raum’s words rang in Zurael’s mind. They grew louder and louder, until, with a third repetition of the question, he couldn’t contain them any longer.

Excitement lit Javier’s eyes. He hesitated only a second before leaving the small protective circle he was in and going to a table draped with a black cloth. He leaned down and pulled a wire cage from underneath, where it had been hidden by the dark material.

Aisling gasped despite the blade pressed to her throat. A fresh wave of fury swallowed Zurael at the sight of her pet, his fur matted with blood, one front paw tucked against his chest, unable to bear weight.

Javier lifted his bandaged hand and made a show of studying it. “Strangely enough, Aisling, despite an amazing collection of witches’ shadow books, not a single healing potion or spell has worked on the wounds I sustained capturing your ferret. I hadn’t intended to leave your house in such a state of destruction, but it hardly matters. You’ll be moving in with me. Think of it as a get acquainted period as we begin working together.”

He retrieved a gunlike weapon from underneath the table. Zurael didn’t immediately recognize it, but Aisling’s whimper of distress transmitted her horror and anguish at the sight of it.

Javier pressed the end of the barrel against the open mesh of the cage and pulled the trigger. A dart connected to thin wire struck Aziel. He jerked, cried, convulsed as electric charges pulsed into him until Javier released the trigger, leaving Aziel lying on his side, still except for his rapid breathing.

A fury unlike any Zurael had ever known filled him. He fought the entrapment spell until he was panting as hard as Aziel.

Blood poured from Aisling’s neck where she’d tried to get to her pet. Javier shook his head. “This won’t do at all.”

He made a show of adjusting the settings on the gun. “If you force me to pull the trigger, Aisling, it will most likely kill your pet. Do not speak unless I specifically ask you a question. Do not move unless I tell you to.”

Javier glanced at his assistant. “Aubrey, go ahead and release her.” Aubrey stepped away from Aisling, keeping the knife in front of her as if she felt vulnerable without her hostage. Zurael would have struck willingly, but wasn’t given a choice. Javier said, “Kill Aubrey,” and he did in a quick slash of tail and talons.

It was the instant Aisling should have rushed toward Javier and touched him before he could command Zurael to stop her—but she couldn’t do it. Love for Aziel held her in place and the opportunity was lost in a spray of blood and crack of bone.

“I hate to waste a promising and very willing student,” Javier said, “but I’m afraid that given the circumstances it was unavoidable. Students can learn
too
much. Now then, Zurael, I want you to take Aubrey’s position behind Aisling. There’s no need for you to bother with a knife. Your talons against her jugular should be sufficient.”

It took three commands. But in the end Zurael complied.

Familiar heat swamped her as he held her back to his chest. The sharp tips of his nails pressed to her throat and she shivered with real fear—as she had the first time she’d felt them on her skin—and not the erotic fear she’d experienced since then.

“Make her bleed,” Javier said, not bothering to pause before issuing the command twice more to force Zurael into obedience.

Aisling stiffened. Tears flowed freely down her face as sharp talons dug into her, sending rivulets of blood trailing down her neck.

“That’s enough,” Javier said, apparently satisfied that despite having once belonged to her, Zurael was now completely under his command.

Javier used his bandaged hand to pull the black sheet off what Aisling thought was a table, but now saw was an altar. A clay tablet lay on top of it, next to a rectangular urn placed on its side.

She could feel shock ripple through Zurael. She could feel him fighting to release her, and though she couldn’t be positive, she thought it was the sight of the tablet that caused his reaction, and not the urn.

Javier stood the urn up. It was covered in sigils. He pulled a stopper out and set it on the altar. “I’ll admit, I haven’t had much success in confining demons. For most of us they’re extremely dangerous to summon in the first place, much less order into a containment vessel. And then of course, there’s the risk of offending whatever demon lord they call master. But given Zurael’s apparent devotion to you . . . well, I’m feeling good about my chances of being successful. Bring her closer.”

Aisling barely glanced at the altar. Her attention went to Aziel.

Fresh blood was smeared across the metal floor of the cage. His breathing had steadied, but his eyes remained closed.

She wanted to weep at the sight of him. Instead she curled her hands into fists, readied herself to act when the chance presented itself.

“I’m almost embarrassed to share this with you, Aisling,” Javier said. “And I suspect your skills, perhaps coupled with the application of Ghost, will make me feel as though I’ve wasted years of my life—and quite a few of my students’ lives—trying to gather all the missing pieces of this tablet and translate it into something useful.

“Lately I’ve been so sure that a little tweak here, an educated guess there, and the incantation would work. Unfortunately all I’ve ended up with are empty bodies and, more recently, slaughtered students who brought me unwelcome attention from their wealthy families.”

Aisling glanced at the tablet. It was old, broken, still missing small sections. An empty shape at the bottom captured her attention. Her thoughts flashed to Tamara’s dead lover, his hand inches away from a flat piece of stone with writing etched on it, its shape the same as the one in front of her.

Some of the recovered pieces fit together tightly. Others crumbled at the edges, distorting the symbols or leaving blank spaces.

Vague memories stirred as she scanned the text. Ancestral memories perhaps, though some of the curves and shapes reminded her of those Zurael had drawn in the dirt. A cold shiver slid down her spine when she came to the sigils she did recognize, the ones she’d seen painted on Elena and later on Nicholas.

Javier ran his fingers over a line of text. “I won’t bore you with all the details of how I’ve acquired the missing pieces over the years, but as you can see the tablet is ancient. In fact if you believe some of what’s written in the moldy tomes the Church has in its possession, it was given to an elite priesthood by God himself, much like the commandments were handed to Moses.

“Instead of laws though, what’s inscribed on the tablet gave mankind—or at least those deemed worthy by the priesthood—dominion over demons and other spirit beings. It’s ironic when you think about all the heretics and witches and black magic practitioners who have been burned at the stake or otherwise killed by the Church and its religious predecessors. Most of them were working with faulty, weak spells and incantations, developed by man, while the Church once had in its possession god-given instructions. But I digress . . .”

He turned slightly, shifting his focus to the cage at his feet. “If she attempts to summon help, Zurael, kill her.”

Javier pulled the Taser barb from Aziel with a jerk of his arm. The ferret cried, tried to stand, fell to his side again.

“Good,” Javier said, putting the gun on the floor, then unlatching the cage. He waited a minute before reaching in to pull Aziel out by the scruff of the neck. “I asked you a question over lunch, Aisling, but you declined to answer. Perhaps you’ll reconsider now and confirm what I already know is true. Could you summon a spirit and require it to possess the body of someone foolish enough to Ghost?”

Fear for Aziel churned in her stomach. Nightmare images from her first trip to Sinners crowded in. “Yes.”

“Excellent. See, we’re already starting to work well together. Now for a tougher question. Can you summon a spirit and require it to possess someone who is dead?”

Aisling’s throat closed in on itself as she remembered John’s voice coming from Felipe’s corpse. Her heart thundered in her ears. She shook her head. Lying.

“Wrong answer, I think,” Javier said. “And truthfully, you’re of little use to me if you can’t do that. Ghost is difficult to obtain, and there’s always the possibility it’ll wear off at an inopportune moment or become unavailable.”

From the folds of his robe Javier retrieved an athame. And as quickly as Aubrey had slit Elena’s throat, he did the same to Aziel.