Spellcasters (44 page)

He stood there, watching me for a moment, then turned and headed down the hall. After a few steps, he lifted his hands and Anton’s body dropped to the floor. A sharp wind, as hot as a furnace blast, encircled me, then was gone.

I wrapped my arms around me, shaking despite the heat. Looking down at Sandford, I saw his shirt was neither torn nor bloodied, as if I’d only imagined what I’d seen. Shivering, I stepped over his lifeless body.

Anton’s corpse lay several feet away, also blocking the hall. He was on his stomach, face turned toward the wall, eyes closed. As I lifted my foot to step over him, his body convulsed. I jerked back, stumbling into Sandford. Anton’s body shook and twisted, bucking off the floor. Then it went still.

I fought to control my racing heart, then lifted my foot slowly. Dime store magic, I told myself. Yet that mantra no longer worked, no longer held true. There were things here that could hurt me, things my brain could barely fathom.

As my foot passed over Anton’s head, his eyes opened and I fell back with a shriek. Anton’s head rose and jerked from side to side. Then it turned nearly full around, bones snapping. His eyes met mine. The bright green irises were gone, replaced by dull yellowish disks with huge pupils. Those reptilian eyes fixed on mine, wide and unblinking. The mouth opened and a stream of high-pitched gibberish flew out. Then the thing that had been Anton rose up onto its fingertips and toes, lifting itself just inches from the floor and skittered into the next open room. From within
the room came more gibbering, then the scratching of nails moving fast against the wooden floor.

I dove past the open door and ran for the front stairs, taking them two at a time. Halfway down, the step beneath me split in two. I stumbled and grabbed the railing. The next step cracked, then the next and the next, pieces dropping into the empty hole below. I raced back up the stairs, hearing the steps crackle and splinter in my wake.

I dashed for the back stairs, gaze trained on the doorway ahead. Something hissed in my path and I stopped short. Anton—or what had been Anton—was now back in the hall, crouched over Sandford’s corpse. The creature hissed and snuffled at my approach, but kept its face against Sandford’s torso, as if sniffing it.

I looked back at the front steps, now a twelve-foot sheer drop. Then I glanced at the creature. It still hadn’t lifted its head, didn’t even seem to know I was there. If I could just step over—oh, God, you must be kidding! I bit back my horror and steeled myself. A short run, a jump, and I’d be at the back stairs. I just couldn’t think about what I was jumping over.

As I prepared to sprint, I changed my mind. I’d flunked track-and-field in elementary school, being unable to clear even the lowest hurdle. If I ran and jumped, I risked kicking the creature and pissing it off. Instead I tiptoed across the hall, then pressed myself against the wall and began slowly sidestepping toward Sandford’s body. His arm was stretched over his head. Carefully I stepped over it, then continued inching sideways, past his head and along his upper chest. The creature was still crouched over Sandford’s stomach, with its feet braced against the wall.

I lifted my foot to step over. Its head shot up and twisted full around, yellow eyes meeting mine. Strings of Sandford’s flesh hung from its mouth and teeth. It hissed, spraying me with gore. I screamed then, screamed as loud as I could and wheeled, instinctively heading back to the front steps. I only got as far as Sandford’s outstretched arm, tripped over it, and sailed to the floor. Something moved across my legs and I reared up, kicking and screaming. I couldn’t stop screaming. Even knowing I was wasting energy—and possibly attracting more horrors—I couldn’t stop.

The thing that had been Anton squirmed over me, pinning me to the floor. As hard as I punched, I couldn’t even make it flinch. It moved up my chest until its face was over mine, dribbling bits of bloodied flesh onto my mouth and cheeks.

I shut my mouth then. Shut it fast. In my head, though, I was still screaming, unable to focus or think, seeing only those yellow eyes boring
into mine. The thing opened its mouth and gibbered, a high-pitched stream of noise that stabbed through my skull.

It lowered its face to mine. I squeezed my hands between its shoulders and mine, and pushed with everything I had. It bared its teeth and hissed louder, spraying me with saliva and blood, but I kept pushing and finally managed to wriggle from under it.

I scrambled to my feet and kicked it in the head. It shrieked and gibbered. I turned to run, but a woman blocked my path. I recognized her as the shaman cook.

“Look out!” I shouted. “Run!”

She only bent and waved her hands at the creature, as if shooing a cat. It hissed and snarled. As I glanced back at the thing, it lifted itself onto its fingers and toes and skittered through another open door.

“Oh, God, thank you,” I said. “Now let’s get—”

The woman grabbed my arm as I turned to run for the back steps.

“He was here,” she said.

“Yes, a lot of things are here. Now let’s—”

The woman stepped in front of me, blocking my path again. I looked her full in the face for the first time. Her eyes were white—pure white, devoid of irises and pupils. I wheeled to run the other way, but she grabbed my arm with a viselike grip and pulled me to her.

“He was here,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. “I can smell him. Can you smell him?”

I struggled to get free. She didn’t even seem to notice my efforts. She licked her lips.

“Yes, yes, I smell him. One of the masters. Here. Here!”

She moved her face down to mine, nostrils flaring.

“I smell him on you.” Her voice and body quivered with excitement. “He spoke to you. He touched you. Oh, you have been blessed! Blessed!”

Her tongue shot out and licked my cheek. I yelped and dove past her. She grabbed for me, but I kept running.

I tore down the hall and back steps, vaulting over Sandford, then Shaw without so much as a stumble. At the bottom of the stairs, I didn’t pause to look around. I dove through the first open door and slammed it behind me, then leaned against it, gulping air. I was shaking so badly the door itself quavered under me. Then I realized it wasn’t me making the door shake. The whole house was quaking.

Beneath my feet, the floor rattled and groaned. I looked around wildly. The floorboards buckled, then gave way, splinters spraying upward as a wave of spirits flew through, formless rays of light, like the ones in the
cemetery. The force of them hurled me into the air. As I rocketed across the room, a huge gaping maw appeared before me. Before I had time to scream, I sailed through the apparition and hit the floor.

All around me, spirits jetted into the air, moving so fast that I could feel their passing. The very fabric of the house moaned and shifted, threatening to blow apart. I fought to move, but the force of the passing spirits was like a gale-force wind, holding me still and snatching the breath from my lungs.

It stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The spirits had broken through the ceiling and were gone.

I took a minute to breathe, just breathe, then looked around. Between me and the door, the floor was gone, leaving a gaping hole into the basement. I glanced at the window, but it was barely eighteen inches square. My hips definitely weren’t less than eighteen inches, round or square.

After a few more deep breaths, I approached the hole in the floor. Then, from below, I caught a sound that made my heart leap. Savannah’s voice. She was in the basement, chanting an incantation.

I dropped to my knees, grabbed the edge of the hole, and leaned into it.

“Savannah?” I called. “It’s me, hon. It’s Paige.”

She continued chanting, her voice a distant whisper. I cleared my throat.

“Savannah?” I said, louder. “Can you—”

The house rocked suddenly, like a boat cut from its moorings. I flew, face-first, through the hole and somersaulted, landing hard on the dirt floor beneath. For a moment, I couldn’t move. The commands wouldn’t travel from my brain to my muscles. Panic washed through me. Then as if in a delayed reaction, all my limbs convulsed, throwing me awkwardly into a sprawl. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain that slammed through me.

From somewhere beyond came Savannah’s faint voice. I looked around, seeing I was in an empty cold cellar. I moved to the only door and opened it. Savannah’s voice became clear. I caught a few words of Greek, enough to tell me, if I hadn’t already guessed, that she was conjuring. Conjuring what, though, I couldn’t tell. I hurried toward her before I found out.

A
s I followed Savannah’s voice, I heard another. Nast’s. “You have to stop, sweetheart,” he said. “You can’t do this. It isn’t possible.”

Savannah kept chanting.

“I know you’re angry. I don’t know what happened—”

Savannah stopped in mid-incantation and howled, “You killed her!”

“I didn’t kill anyone, princess. If you mean that boy—”

“I mean Paige! You killed her. You told them to kill her.”

“I never—”

“I saw her body! Leah showed me! I saw them carry her to the van. You promised she’d be safe and you killed her!”

I stepped into the furnace room and walked around the mammoth wood-burning furnace to see her on the other side, kneeling, facing the far wall.

“I’m right here, Savannah,” I said. “Nobody killed me.”

“Oh, thank God,” Nast said. “See, sweetheart? Paige is fine.”

“You killed her! You killed her!”

“No, hon, I—”

“You killed her!” Savannah screamed. “You killed her! You promised! You promised and you lied!”

Tears streamed down Savannah’s face. Nast stepped forward, arms wide to embrace her. I lunged forward to grab him, but missed.

“Don’t—!” I shouted.

Savannah’s hands flew up and Nast shot backward. His head slammed against the concrete wall. His eyes widened, then closed as his body slumped to the ground, head falling forward.

I ran to him and felt for a pulse, but there was none. Blood trickled from the crushed back of his head, wending down his neck and over my fingers.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” I gulped air, forcing calm into my voice. “It’s okay, Savannah. It’ll be okay. You didn’t mean it. I know that.”

She’d started chanting again. I turned. Her hands were clenched and raised, her head down, eyes squeezed shut. I tried to decipher the spell, but the words flowed so fast, they were almost unintelligible. I could tell she was summoning, but what?

Then I caught a word. A single word that told me everything. Mother. Savannah was trying to raise her mother’s spirit.

“Savannah,” I said, keeping my voice soft, but raised loud enough for her to hear. “Savannah, hon? It’s me. It’s Paige.”

She kept casting, repeating the words over and over in an endless loop. My gaze moved to her hands, caught by a flash of something. Something red. Blood streamed down her wrists as her fingers bit into her palms.

“Oh, Savannah,” I whispered.

I moved toward her, hands outstretched. When I was only inches from touching her, her eyes flew open. Her eyes were blank, as if seeing only a shape or a stranger. She shouted something and banged her hands against her sides. My feet flew from under me and I sailed into the far wall.

I stayed on the floor until she returned to her incantation. Then I pushed myself to my knees.

From my new angle, the light from the basement hall caught Savannah’s face, glistening off the tears that streamed down, soaking the front of her shirt. The words flew from her lips, more expelled than spoken, moving seamlessly from spell to spell, language to language, in a desperate bid to find the right words to call forth her mother’s spirit.

“Oh, baby,” I whispered, feeling my own eyes fill with tears. “You poor baby.”

She’d tried so hard, moving from one life to another, trying to fit into a new world populated by strangers who couldn’t, wouldn’t understand her. Now even that world had fallen apart. Everyone had deserted her, failed her, and now she was desperately trying to summon the one person who’d never failed her. And it was the one thing she could never do.

Savannah could call forth every demon in the universe and never reach her own mother. She might have accidentally raised the spirits of that family in the cemetery, but she could not call on her mother, buried in an unknown grave, hundreds of miles away. If such a thing were possible, I would have contacted my own mother, despite every moral qualm against such a thing. How many times in this past year would I have called her, to ask for advice, for guidance, for anything, just to speak to her?

My own grief washed through me then, my own tears, breaking past the dam I’d so carefully erected. How different everything would have been if my mother had been here. She could have told me how to deal
with the Coven, could have interceded on my behalf. She could have rescued me from jail, comforted me after that hellish afternoon in the funeral parlor. With her there, it would never have been this way. I would never have
fucked up so badly
!

I hadn’t been ready. Not for Savannah, not for Coven Leadership, not for anything that had befallen me since her death. Now I was here, in this strange basement, listening to the howling chant of Savannah’s grief and knowing, if I did not stop her, she would summon something we couldn’t control, something that would destroy us both.

I knew this, yet I could do nothing. I didn’t know what to do. Hearing Savannah shout her mother’s name, voice rising to a crazed crescendo, I did the only thing I could think of. I asked my mother for help. I closed my eyes and called to her, summoning her from the depths of my memory and pleading for help. When Savannah paused to gulp breath, I heard someone calling my name. For one second, my heart leaped, thinking I had somehow succeeded. Then my mind cleared and the voice came clear.

“Paige? Savannah? Paige!”

It was Cortez, upstairs. I whispered a word of thanks to my mother, or providence, or whatever had sent him, then raced past the furnace and up the stairs. When I reached the top, I saw Cortez run past the end of the hall.