Summoning the Night (38 page)

Chora raised the bloody blade, murmuring under his breath. It sounded calm and peaceful. Maybe a prayer. Lon racked his shotgun and fired. Chora jerked to the side. The shot hit his free shoulder, he cried out in fury, and dark blood flowed over the gray fabric of his coat. His tail whipped furiously around his legs.

Lon groaned and cracked his jaw. Despite the shot, he wasn't happy. He'd been aiming for the heart, I realized, and missed his mark, not expecting the demon to move so fast. Worse, that was his fifth shot. Four rounds plus one in the chamber makes five total. He lowered the gun and held it by the barrel as he fished inside his pocket.
More shells
, I thought,
thank God
. When he pulled out his phone instead, I wondered if he'd gone loopy. His fingers danced over the screen. He spoke a single word into the phone, then tossed both it and the shotgun on the grass beside him. Maybe he was calling Dare. Or the police. I'd take either at this point.

Chora groaned and tilted his neck to inspect the damage Lon had inflicted. Just a glance. His eyes refocused on Lon, who held up his hands in surrender. I silently called out for the Moonchild power. Not a request, a command. The telltale pinpoint of blue light manifested in my vision. It was ready, waiting to be used. But, like Lon, I might have only one shot to change things, and I didn't want to miss.

I could either conjure up the
Silentium
seal I'd used in the cannery to negate Merrin's knack-stealing magick, or I could bind Chora.

Merrin was now halfway across the yard.

Chora repositioned his blade to strike, ignoring the weeping wound in his shoulder.

Jupe's hands were shaking on my back—from fear? Or was he readying his own power? If he used his knack, he'd use it to help his dad. A guess, but I was willing to gamble, and there was no time left to do anything else.

Merrin's mouth opened and began to form a command.

Silentium.

The pinpoint of light flattened into a disk. The lines of the magick seal formed in blue light. Heka and moon energy zigzagged in and out of me and poured into it, then I used every ounce of willpower I had to thrust the seal at Merrin's galloping body.

Blinding white light whooshed around the magician. He hollered and tripped, thudding to the ground as Jupe yelled, “Stop!”

Chora's eyes darted in our direction. He'd heard Jupe's persuasive command, but it didn't come fast enough. Though he faltered, his blade was already arcing through the air. As Lon ducked, the blade's tip sliced, nicking Lon's neck where it met his jaw.

Lon grasped his throat and fell to his knees. Blood seeped between his fingers and stained the neckline of his shirt.

“Nooooo!” Jupe screamed as he hurtled to Lon's side.

Chora's arm went limp, his hand still gripping the bloodied blade. A look of regret darkened his eyes. Regret and pity. The wound he'd delivered wasn't deep, but it was precise. He looked like someone who'd just killed a stranger in a duel over honor. He looked human.

Merrin's husky voice burred from behind me. “Finish him off, Chora!”

He was on his feet again, but the knack-stealing sigil was dead. And it wasn't the only sigil diffused by my
Silentium
spell. The smaller tattoo over his heart that I'd
glimpsed earlier? That was dead now, too. The ink was faded—the tattoo was much older than the knack-stealing sigil—but now that Merrin was bowling toward me like a peg-legged sailor ready to throw me to the sharks, I recognized its purpose. Egyptians marked their dead with a symbol to keep their mummified bodies from being invaded by evil spirits. I reckoned that Merrin used it to keep Chora from entering him. A little insurance, I supposed, after the demon nearly killed him during the first possession thirty years ago.

Partners. Chora and Merrin. That's how Merrin described their relationship. I hardly agreed, but since Chora hadn't realized that Merrin was now wide open and unprotected, I'd give him a little push.

Darkness blanketed my mind. The yard and everything in it faded to black, and the breezy night air stilled. I willed the moon power into action once more, conjuring the blue light, expanding it into a simple binding triangle, clear and strong. Moon-kindled Heka flowed as I tossed it like a lasso and slammed it over Chora's body.

As I'd done with Jupe's golden thread, I reached out with magick and pulled. Darkness receded. Sound and sight returned to me in a flash as the binding snagged the demon. Furious and unhinged, Chora howled as his body sailed through the air like a bullet headed for Merrin's chest.

“Ride!” I commanded as he blurred by me.

I released the binding. Chora's body slammed into Merrin's without a sound, without the expected thud of flesh hitting flesh. Chora merely melted into the magician's skin and disappeared like a specter.

Merrin's eyes widened in horror. His body twitched, bristling with additional life. His torso jerked. A low rumbling
started in his legs and spread upward. What little hair he had remaining on his balding head stood on end.

Then the shaking halted and his eyes rolled back in his head. Flesh ripped. A thin, bloody blade, glowing with pink light, poked out from his stomach. The blade quivered, then sliced upward, dissecting Merrin from the inside. His organs spilled out in a dark, shiny tumble half a second before a bright pink light exploded and geysered up into the air. Merrin's body erupted along with it, sending up a grisly shower of blood and flesh that fell back like rain and splattered over the wet grass.

Merrin was gone. Decimated. Torn to shreds.

Chora was gone, too. No trace of pink magick remained. Whether he was dead or banished, or had slipped back into the gap between the planes, I didn't care. I turned my back on the gore and raced to Lon, dropping to the ground beside him.

He lay on his back, his horns and halo gone. His hand still gripped his neck. Both of Jupe's hands were pressed on top. So much blood . . .

I tore out of my jacket and ripped a strip of the lining, balling it up. “Let go, Jupe!” I said as my hands hovered over his with the cloth.

“I can't!”

“On three, okay? One, two . . .”

Jupe jerked his hands away. I pressed the fabric against Lon's neck, his hand still clamped and wedged under my makeshift compress. I saw the fear in his eyes as I pulled his hand away. “Let me, please,” I said. His blood-slicked hand drooped into the grass.

My arms shook. Blood had soaked through the gray fabric way too fast. I pressed harder, using both of my hands.
How long did it take someone to bleed to death? Minutes? How long had it been already? “Nine-one-one, Jupe,” I said with a strained voice.

He struggled with his cell phone. “I can't dial,” Jupe answered frantically between sobs. “My hands are slippery!”

I heard noise behind us—traffic, brakes, car doors slamming . . . Jupe's shrill voice carried in the darkness. “Help! Help us, please!”

I chanced a quick look over my shoulder. Several people were rushing into the front yard.

“Mr. Dare!” Jupe called out to one of the approaching silhouettes. “Help! Call Dr. Mick. My dad needs help!”

Dare jogged toward us. “Dear God,” he said. “Mark, get an ambulance here!” Dare yelled back at his son.

“No. Dr. Mick,” Jupe insisted. “It's bad.”

“Can he speak?”

“Don't you even try!” I barked at Lon as blood oozed between my fingers. “Stay still.”

Dare glanced at the carnage in the yard. “Are the kids—” Dare started.

“In the house,” I said. “Lon heard them.”

“Move away, miss,” one of the Dare's people said, an Earthbound with a green halo. He kneeled beside Lon and tried to take over.

“No! He'll bleed out.”

The Earthbound looked at my hands and winced. “Keep pressure on it.”

Any more pressure and I'd be choking him. I tried to keep my hands steady. Lon's eyes were glassy and kept fluttering shut. His breath was becoming shallow.

“Stay awake,” I croaked. Hot tears welled and spilled down my cheeks. I dipped my head to his and pressed a
shaky kiss to his brow. “I need you, Lon,” I whispered. “You're the only family I have. Don't leave me.”

His lips moved. He looked up me, dazed, and blinked.

“Police will be here soon,” Dare said. “I'll handle them.”

Another car drove up. I heard talking outside the fence, commotion. I could spy a little of it through the open gate. A lone figure was arguing with Dare's people, who were managing a growing crowd of neighbors on the sidewalk. Someone raced through the gate.

“Cady!”

“Bob?”

“Lon called me,” he yelled.
The phone call before he surrendered,
I remembered. Not Dare, but Bob? The Earthbound dashed out of the shadows, chest heaving, face red. “Oh, no,” he lamented when he spotted Lon.

“You're a healer,” Jupe said.

“Yes, but not a good one,” Bob said. “I can't . . . this is . . . it's too big.”

“Yes, you can,” I pleaded. “You can help.
Please,
Bob.”

“Cady”—he shook his head—“I really can't. I'm not my father. Small wounds, Cady. Not this.”

“Jupe, Bob is a good healer. He just doesn't believe he is. Can you please persuade him?”

Jupe wiped away tears. “What?”

“Tell him how good he is, Jupe. You dad needs someone
now
. Dr. Mick is too far away.”

Realization cracked Jupe's miserable expression. He swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut, and shouted, “You're a good healer, Bob. Good enough to help my dad. Please fix him!”

Bob swayed on his knees.

Lon's green-and-gold halo was shrinking. His eyes fluttered closed.

Jupe choked on a sob and tried to persuade Bob again. His body shook as he balled up his hands into fists. “Heal him!” he cried out. “Stop the bleeding!”

“I trust you, Bob,” I said, smiling and crying at the same time. “Please.”

He stared at Lon for a moment, then nodded once and took a deep breath.

Bob's fingers touched mine and prodded. I didn't want to let go. He prodded me a second time. I sobbed and jerked my hands away.
I trust you, I trust you, I trust you. . . .

Bob removed the soaked compress from Lon's neck and slid his fingers over the wound. He mumbled something to himself and closed his eyes.

I waited, talking to Lon in a whisper and gripping his limp hand. Jupe's squatted next to me, his shoulder pressed against my arm as he nervously rocked on his heels.

I waited longer, barely breathing, as Dare's people worked in the distance, rescuing the kids from the house.

Then Bob gasped.

His shoulders strained.

My heart pounded.

And as Bob let out a long, labored breath, Lon's halo pulsed brighter. An ambulance wailed in the distance, and Lon's fingers, slick with blood, flexed around mine.

His eyes opened.

Mr. and Mrs. Holiday walked into Lon's house hauling a homemade cake scattered with multicolored birthday candles. It was a week late, but when the actual birthday sucked as much as Jupe's did, it was only fair to get a do-over. Banana-and-chocolate layer cake with peanut butter frosting was definitely
not
my first choice, or second. But it was Jupe's favorite, and they'd gone to so much work. When I tasted it, though, I was pleasantly surprised. “Mmm,” I said, smiling.

“Told you. It's good, right?” Jupe shoveled an enormous bite into his mouth.

“Slow down,” Lon said. “You'll make yourself sick.”

“It takes three pieces to make me throw up,” he argued, then waggled his eyebrows in my direction. “I put that to the test last year.”

“I remember,” Mr. Holiday said sourly.

“You're a disgusting little animal,” Mrs. Holiday echoed.

He grinned and licked crumbs off his fork.

As Lon grumbled, Jupe plucked out a chunk of banana from his slice and fed it to Mr. Piggy under the dining room table while he recounted stories from past birthdays,
enlightening me as to why both saltwater aquariums and slumber parties were forever banned at the Butler house. Good to know.

Though he'd already unwrapped several gifts, Jupe's big birthday present came while we were clearing away the remains of the cake. I agreed to distract Jupe while Lon went outside and took care of the delivery.

“I'm sorry your real birthday stunk,” I said as we waited.

“You and me both. I always thought flying would be cool, but I was
this
close to pissing my pants,” he admitted with a weak smile.

“That's a habit of yours, isn't it?” I teased.

He snickered, then we both fell silent.

“Do you think Ms. Forsythe will ever teach again?” he asked after a time.

“I don't know.”

She was currently healing in the hospital after reconstructive surgery on her knees. Unlike Lon's neck wound, her shattered bone and cartilage couldn't be mended by a healer, not even one as skilled as Mr. Mick. At Lon's insistence, Dare was making arrangements for Ms. Forsythe to be checked into some place up the coast, the Golden Path Center, a “voluntary” mental health retreat for Earthbounds. I hoped she found a way to deal with her very
involuntary
role in all this, but I wasn't sure if that was possible.