Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us (12 page)

“Lord Cadilus,” Salisteen said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you among us mortals?”

Since Paul was located behind and to one side of Colleen and Salisteen, Cadilus didn’t have to turn to look at him. He merely lifted his eyes slightly, pale green eyes that looked at Paul with the intensity of spot lights. Cadilus said to Salisteen, “Why, with four such powerful practitioners gathered in one place . . .” He pointedly turned his head slightly toward McGowan and Stowicz to acknowledge their presence, but his eyes never left Paul. “. . . such a gathering would naturally draw the interest of the Seelie Court.”

Salisteen laughed like a schoolgirl flirting with a handsome young man. “I think the interest of the Seelie Court goes far beyond us four.”

He smiled and spoke with feigned innocence. “I can’t imagine what would eclipse the four of you.”

He looked pointedly at Katherine. “Miss McGowan,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure to set eyes on such a beautiful young woman. And your companion—” He pointedly looked at Paul. “—the young wizard.”

Cadilus turned his head slightly, as if moving his gaze to Salisteen, but his eyes remained locked on Paul. “Would the young man be responsible for that rather dramatic incident last night?”

McGowan stepped forward. “I am responsible because he is my apprentice, and he was acting under my tutelage.”

Stowicz said, “And mine.”

Colleen said, “And mine.”

Salisteen said, “And mine.”

Cadilus continued to stare at Paul as his eyes narrowed. “All of Faerie wonders what danger his presence on the Mortal Plane brings upon us.”

McGowan laughed. “That is the conundrum, isn’t it. Is he a danger to us all? Or is he here to protect us from a danger to us all? Are we in more danger with him, or without him?”

Cadilus’ gaze remained locked on Paul. “Until he learns the proper use of his necromantic abilities, he is a danger to us all.”

On impulse Paul stood and walked the few paces necessary to stand beside Colleen and Salisteen. He didn’t want to appear to be hiding behind them, as if he needed their protection, though he probably did. “And who will teach me the proper use of my necromantic abilities? You?”

Cadilus’ face stiffened with anger, “There has never been a necromancer among the fey.”

Paul nodded and grinned unpleasantly. He kept his eyes locked on Cadilus, and for some reason he now saw through the fellow’s glamour, saw the amber irises of his vertically slit pupils. “Exactly. And there hasn’t been a necromancer on the Mortal Plane for twelve hundred years. So I guess we’re bound to stumble about a bit here. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more dramatic incidents like last night.”

Cadilus eyes narrowed and he stared at Paul for a long moment, then turned to McGowan. “While we do not practice necromancy, we may be able to offer some guidance, perhaps through old texts in our possession.”

He waited, but McGowan didn’t respond. When it became clear McGowan wasn’t going to, Cadilus added, “But there will be a price.”

McGowan’s lips curled upward ever so faintly, almost a smile, but not quite. But again the old man gave no response.

After a moment of silence, Cadilus turned back to Salisteen, switched the charm of the British diplomat back on and smiled. “By your leave, I must report to my queen. May I go there directly?”

She nodded. “As long as you remain true to your parole.”

He bowed deeply, like a courtier of the eighteenth century. “Of course, dear lady.”

As he straightened Paul sensed a shift in reality, an odd twist down a spiral track that left him with a slight sense of vertigo. And by the time Cadilus had straightened fully, he was no longer in the room.

Paul asked, “Why do I feel like he and I were just a couple of stray cats hissing at each other?”

Stowicz laughed heartily. “Well put. Yes, he was here to gauge you. And you played that nicely.”

“Ya, kid,” McGowan added. “You did good.”

Salisteen’s purse erupted with a chorus of classical music. She opened it, pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and said, “This is Salisteen.”

She listened for a moment, then said, “But I—” Clearly the person at the other end interrupted her.

She listened further, then flipped the cell phone closed and carefully put it back in her purse. She looked up at McGowan and Stowicz and said, “Those nasty Russians are in town. They just landed at DFW and they’re on their way here. And Karpov is livid about last night.”

~~~

He’d left his car parked in a busy strip mall about a half mile from the school. He had the advantage of a rather ordinary appearance, so as long as he didn’t do something to stand out, people didn’t really notice him. But he was too gringo to go unnoticed in this neighborhood, so he’d carefully prepared a spell of illusion, a glamour to give him the appearance of an elderly Latino man, old enough that no one would consider him a threat, but not so old as to appear decrepit. This time of year dusk came early, and a comfortably gray evening settled in as he walked down the sidewalk toward the school.

The voice inside him had gone quiescent in anticipation of the kill. He sensed its hunger, though he couldn’t share that hunger, not for the little Mexican boy. Only Alice could satisfy his need, so he would take little pleasure from this. The little boy was really just food, sustenance for the voice within him, a means to strengthen it, to sate its needs, to return it to a state of power so it could help him satisfy his one desire: little Alice.

The little Mexican boy took remedial English lessons after school on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. His parents had high hopes for him, wanted him to go to college, to speak English without an accent, and had the means to pay for a tutor. He considered them to be quite progressive in that respect. But it meant the little boy couldn’t take the bus home and must wait for his father to get off work and pick him up. And at this time of year that meant he waited on the sidewalk in front of the school, in the gray dusk of early evening. Sometimes he waited alone. Perfect!

He’d tried this two nights ago Tuesday evening, but the boy hadn’t been alone. There’d been a couple of classmates standing on the sidewalk with the young fellow. So he’d merely strolled on past the boy, though the boy had nodded politely and said, “Good evening, sir.” Indeed, very polite.

Tonight, as he turned the corner a block away from the school, he saw clearly that the boy waited alone. As he strolled slowly toward the young fellow he reached into his pocket and retrieved the small charm he’d prepared. A complex charm, it had taken hours to concoct, and when activated would release a compulsion spell. He wouldn’t have to take any overt action, wouldn’t have to drag the boy kicking and screaming to his car. The child would merely feel curious about the old gentleman that passed him in the night, would think about it for a few moments, and when the old fellow was about a half block away, would decide to satisfy that curiosity and follow the old man, but at a discrete distance. And later, if someone chose to inquire about the boy’s last minutes alive, and if anyone happened to have noticed, they’d tell how the boy had walked away from the school alone.

He was only a dozen paces from him when the boy looked his way and smiled. He smiled back, and as he approached him he lifted his hand to his mouth, concealing the charm within it. When he reached the boy he coughed into his hand as an excuse to spit on the charm, then he faked a stumble and lunged feebly at the boy. Instinctively, and politely, the boy reached out to help the old man, and at that moment he pressed the activated charm against the skin of the boy’s hand.

The charm exploded with an excruciating flash, knocking him to the ground, his hand and arm throbbing painfully. The little boy staggered but didn’t fall, put a hand to his forehead and swayed slightly as if stunned. Standing over the older man he looked down and said, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” the voice within him said. “I’m hurt. Help me.”

No
, he wanted to scream, but the voice had complete control of him now. As the boy leaned down toward him he opened his mouth.
No, there’s something wrong, don’t.

I must feed
, the voice said within him, and the oily black cloud emerged from his mouth, rose up and enveloped the boy.

The boy screamed, staggered, fell and convulsed spasmodically on the sidewalk.

The voice, screaming in pain, wanted the little boy, wanted to try again, but it was weakened and he regained control of his body. He staggered to his feet, staggered up the street away from the scene. Surely someone had heard the boy’s scream and would take notice. He needed to get away, but it was imperative he not draw further attention to himself, not run, not rush. His arm hurt terribly, and the voice within him groaned in pain.

He made it to the end of the block, turned and walked out of sight of the school. By the time he reached his car in the strip-mall parking lot, he heard the scream of a siren in the distance. His right arm was useless, so he dug his keys out of his right pocket with his left hand. He sat down behind the wheel, reached across with his left hand to turn the key and start the engine. He backed out of the parking place slowly, drove across the parking lot and out onto the street, careful not to rush, not to speed. He’d only driven a short distance when the flashing lights of an ambulance passed him going the other way.

~~~

“Valter,” Karpov snarled as he stormed into Salisteen’s library. “Vhat in hell are you doing?”

They had agreed to meet Karpov as they’d met Cadilus, though Paul remained standing this time. Karpov ignored the rest of them as he marched up to McGowan. The old man grinned at him and said, “Why, Vasily, just helping Paul practice a little necromancy.”

“But what happened? Everyone on the continent must have felt it.”

McGowan shook his head dismissively. “Just a little learning experience, Vasily.”

Boris and Joe Stalin walked into the room warily. Behind them walked a fellow with blonde hair and Nordic good looks, about Paul’s height. With senses Paul had only recently begun to develop, the fellow was clearly a practitioner, a strong one. And he didn’t have the thuggish appearance of Karpov’s usual bootlickers.

Katherine, standing beside Paul, tensed at the sight of the fellow. He glanced her way and watched her eyes narrow angrily, so he leaned close to her and whispered, “Who’s the Nordic god?”

She turned to Paul and hissed angrily, “My ex. Eric Reichart. And he’s not that good looking, not when you get to know him.”

Mr. Nordic god hesitated when he spotted Katherine, then turned and crossed the room toward her, stopped only when he stood so close to her it was down-right intimate. “Katherine,” he said, his voice sensual, his eyes looking her up and down, pausing briefly on her breasts as he obviously stripped her naked in his mind and look-fucked her. “As always, you look beautiful.”

She lifted a hand casually, placed a fingertip on his chest and pushed him back a step. It was clear he would have resisted had the two of them been alone, but he dare not in the presence of them all. “And as always,” she said scornfully, glancing at Karpov and his thugs, “you’ve found some friends that share your principles.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but it gave him a little satisfaction to see her open dislike of the fellow.

Reichart smiled, and managed to dismiss her completely with nothing more than that. “My colleagues offer certain advantages.”

“Like money,” Katherine said. “You were always in need of that.”

His eyes narrowed angrily. “I never lived beyond my means.”

She smiled at him unpleasantly. “Wrong, you never lived beyond
my
means, but always well beyond your own.” She looked again at Karpov. “I suppose that’s what’s driving your ethical standards now.”

He ignored her, gave Paul a nasty look, then turned away from them and walked over to join Boris and Joe.

Karpov and McGowan had argued the whole time, clearly hadn’t noticed the little confrontation between Katherine and Reichart. Karpov’s voice was strained, elevated and angry. “Ve have to have rules, Valter.”

McGowan stood a head taller than Karpov, and grinning, looking down on the Russian, he responded calmly. “We have enough rules, Vasily.”

McGowan’s calm, almost humorous, response irritated Karpov even further. “Ve make a committee. Ve plan a schedule for his training. Ve monitor it carefully.”

“And who would be on this committee?”

Karpov rubbed his chin, pretended to think on the matter carefully, when all there knew he’d thought this through long ago. “Why . . . I suppose three or four senior practitioners. Ve should have no trouble finding willing tutors.”

McGowan nodded, and slowly turned his head to look at Salisteen, drawing everyone’s eyes with him, including Karpov’s. Then he pointedly shifted his gaze to Colleen, paused for a moment, then moved to Stowicz. He kept his eyes on Stowicz as he said, “I guess we already have such a committee. A de-facto one, but nevertheless one comprised of four of the most senior practitioners alive today.”

Karpov started and stepped back a pace, glancing angrily about the room, only then realizing the corner into which he’d boxed himself.

McGowan glanced over Karpov’s shoulder, and for the first time spotted Reichart. “What’s he doing here?” Clearly, the old man didn’t like Katherine’s ex.

Reichart stiffened, stood erect like a military cadet standing at attention and looked at McGowan warily. Karpov retreated from his earlier argument, crossed the room and put a kindly hand on Reichart’s shoulder. “Eric is my friend. He’s kindly offered to assist me in certain matters.”

He spun back to McGowan. “Ve need to know what you are planning next.”

Apparently, raising the dead was serious enough, and dangerous enough, that McGowan couldn’t refuse to provide at least some explanation, though he did a masterful job of keeping it to a minimum. He briefed them on the demon kills and what they’d discovered so far and what they hoped to do.

When he finished Karpov looked at Paul, his eyes narrow and pinched. “You sure he’s not responsible for this demon?”