“You want me, not him.”
“He’ll do.” One of the demons started after Fitch, who moved pretty quickly for an old guy with a bad leg.
“What’s the matter? Too scared to take me on?” I taunted. The demon forgot about Fitch and came after me. His buddy came up behind me and somehow managed to pin my arm back. A perfect target for his buddy’s fist. Fighting one-handed was harder than I’d thought.
Ruth smashed a suitcase over his head. The demon crumpled, but his pal clawed at Ruth. He was quickly dispatched with Fitch’s cane. Black blood spurted as Fitch bashed the demon’s brains in.
“Thanks, Fitch,” I said. “But I thought you were Switzerland.”
He winked at me. “I am,” he said. “But those two were in need of mediation.”
We shook hands and went our separate ways.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I puzzled over Ruth’s clue as I drove back to the fort. Red? Red had been my mother’s favorite color. There was a painting of her dressed in red hanging in Morta’s apartment.
I was halfway to Morta’s before I swung the Caddy around and went to pick up Claire. I couldn’t go without her.
Claire and Naomi were bunking in the nicest room in the hospital. Carlos, the mesmer, was sleeping there, too, but I couldn’t complain. He’d been caring for the wounded and we needed all the help we could get.
Emmett was on watch and I nodded at him as I went by.
I knocked on their door softly and waited, but there was no answer. I knocked again and heard someone stumbling around before Naomi yanked open the door. She had a baseball bat in her hand.
“It’s me,” I said, before she decided to take a swing at me in the dark. “I need to talk to Claire.”
“She’s not here,” Naomi said, yawning. She waved me into the room and sat on her cot.
“Where is she?”
“With Carlos.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Jesus, Nyx, what do you think?” she replied. “It’s three a.m. What do you think they’re doing? Stop being so suspicious.”
“Which room is his?”
“You can’t go after her right now.”
“Why not?”
At my blank look, she elaborated, “They’re hooking up.”
In my defense, I hadn’t had time to pay attention to my cousin’s romantic escapades. It made sense, though. Carlos was a good-looking guy.
“I can’t wait until morning,” I said. “I need to talk to her now.”
There was a creak of a floorboard and I stilled, hand on my athame, but the creak was followed by a giggle and a man’s low voice.
I opened the door. In the hallway, Carlos and Claire were kissing passionately. She was leaning against the wall near a poorly executed spray-painted dragon.
I cleared my throat. They pulled apart.
“Nyx, what are you doing here?” Claire asked.
I gave Carlos a severe look. “Hope you haven’t been Mesmerizing my cousin.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire asked. “Wait, Carlos is a mesmer?”
He nodded. “But I swear I’ve never used it on you.”
She gave him a smile. “You didn’t have to.”
I cleared my throat. “Excuse us, Carlos. Family business to discuss.”
“Later,” Carlos said. He winked at Claire.
“Yeah, later, Carlos.” What my cousin did with her free time wasn’t my business.
I waited for Carlos to tiptoe away before I said, “I need you to come with me. Now.”
She followed me to the Caddy and slid into the passenger seat seconds before I gunned it.
“What’s your hurry?”
“I know where Morta hid the harpy feather,” I told her.
She grinned at me. “And you came back for me?”
“Stop smiling like that,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I needed someone to watch my back.”
“And you picked me?” she said. “I guess that means you don’t think I’m Hecate’s spy anymore.”
I sobered quickly. “We do have a spy, you know.”
She nodded. “It’s not Carlos. Or Johnny.”
“How do you know?”
“Rebecca and I are Wyrds,” she said. “We gave each of them a test. They passed.”
“Then who do you think is the spy?”
She shrugged. “I thought it might be Willow.”
“She was possessed by Hecate,” I said. “There’s no way it was Willow.”
“Do you have any theories?”
“Luke Seren,” I finally said.
She thought about it. “It’s possible. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
We were silent the rest of the way. I hadn’t been to Morta’s since the tornado. Was the building still standing?
I parked the Caddy in front of the building.
A strange smell was in the air. It was an odor I was familiar with.
“We might have a problem,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Claire said. “It’s still there. I checked.”
“Not that,” I said. I pointed at Morta’s building.
“It’s empty,” Claire said. “Except for a few mortals who don’t know any better.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. The smell of dark magic mingled with blood filled the air. “Wraiths. They’re everywhere.”
“How long until sunup?” she asked.
“Too long,” I replied. The wraiths had already noticed us. They streamed out of the building.
“We should go,” Claire said.
“I’m not leaving without that harpy feather.”
“Then I guess we stay and fight,” she replied.
“The last time I faced wraiths, Deci controlled them,” I said.
“Is that why you killed her?”
“It was either that or get chewed to pieces,” I said. I met her eyes. “I wouldn’t have died, either.”
She nodded to let me know she understood. “Then we find the witch who is controlling them and we kill her.”
“You think it’s Wren.”
“Who else could it be?” Claire replied. “She’s powerful, Hecate’s daughter, and pissed off at the Wyrd family.”
A flash of red caught my eye. Someone in a red Tria Prima robe stood near the entrance, watching us. A hood concealed the identity of the watcher.
“I’ll try to keep the wraiths busy,” Claire said. “You get the feather.”
I pointed to the figure. “I say we have a little chat with Little Red Riding Hood over there.”
“Does that make you the big bad wolf?” Claire asked.
The first of the wraiths reached us. Claire took out a woven sling and a pellet of some kind. “Old school,” I commented.
She smiled right before she launched it. “I’ve made a few modifications.”
The pellet landed in the middle of the wraiths. There was a beat and then an explosion. Wraith parts went everywhere. The wraiths who weren’t blown to smithereens scattered.
The watching figure saw us coming and ran. Claire lobbed another one of her pellets and it landed feet from the robed watcher. The wide sleeve of the Tria Prima robe caught fire, but the watcher managed to put it out before vanishing.
Claire tugged on my arm. “Let’s get the feather and get out of here.”
Morta lived on the top floor with a fabulous view of the city. The elevator wasn’t working, so we had to take the stairs. We were winded by the time we made it up to the top.
I hesitated before opening the door. There were signs that someone had tampered with the wards on Morta’s door, but there’d been a lot of looting in the city, even by the sorcerers and wizards who liked to think they were above stealing.
“Do you think Hecate knows?” Claire asked.
“If she’d found it, we’d already be dead. She suspects it might be here. Or maybe she likes owning something of the Fates.”
“She’ll nev
er own us,” Claire said.
I opened the door. The apartment was empty. My mother’s portrait hung in its place of honor above the fireplace.
“Hurry, Nyx,” Claire said. “I hear something on the stairs.” I yanked the painting from the wall and we ran. Wraiths chased us, but I held the painting tightly with my hand.
We reached the Caddy with a dozen wraiths not far behind. I threw the painting in the backseat and peeled out before Claire had the passenger door shut. A wraith clung to the open door, but Claire kicked at its hands until it dropped to the pavement. There was a wet squishing sound as it hit.
I drove in circles until I was sure we’d lost them. It was dawn when we made it back to the Dead House. I set the portrait on the folding table we’d scavenged.
“Are you sure it’s there?” Claire asked.
“It better be,” I said.
“Should we wake the others?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to get their hopes up. What if we’re wrong?”
“We’re not wrong,” she replied. “The harpy feather is hidden in the painting. I can feel it.”
We’d kept the windows boarded up, so it was dark in the room. Claire lit a lantern and brought it over to the painting.
“Careful!”
She stared down at the painting. “Your mother really was beautiful.”
The painting was the only likeness I had of my mother. I wasn’t looking forward to marring it, but maybe I wouldn’t have to.
If my theory was correct, my silver harpy feather was hidden somewhere in the painting. I flipped it over, but the canvas back looked untouched. “It’s not there.” I flipped it back over.
“My mother did love her, you know,” Claire said. “Even if she never showed it. We’re alike in that. I have trouble expressing my feelings.”
“You don’t seem to have any problem with Carlos,” I said absently, my attention still on the painting.
She giggled and punched me on my remaining arm.
I scanned the painting. Was one of the charms on my mother’s necklace slightly askew?
“Can you see that?”
“There’s something underneath the horseshoe,” Claire said.
“Do you have a nail file or tweezers?”
She rifled through the bag where she kept her sling and came up with a pair of tweezers.
There was a good chance Morta had safeguarded the painting. I looked at again. She’d bespelled it.
“Only a magic word will unlock it,” Claire said.
“But what word?” I thought and then said, “Fortuna.”
The spell disintegrated, but the feather didn’t appear. The painting didn’t explode or dump acid on our heads, either. Despite the lack of results, I was certain we were on the right track.
Morta had been a wily one. I was sure she’d hidden the feather in the painting. I gently peeled the paint away from the horseshoe and a hint of silver gleamed through.
Claire inhaled. “We have it.”
I used the tweezers to pry the feather away and held it up. It was barely bigger than my little finger, but stretched and grew to the size of a large hunting knife. To my relief, the paint reformed. In seconds, it looked like nothing had been removed.
“Your mother was a smart woman,” I said. Claire and I exchanged grins. With the harpy feather, we stood a fighting chance against Hecate.
“How do you use it?” Claire asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Still nothing in the Book of Fates?”
“I’ll look. It’s in my room.” She left and returned a few minutes later.
She laid the book on the table in front of me. “Maybe you can see something I missed. There’s a section about the three items of power, but no mention of what they do.”
I read silently as Claire peered over my shoulder. “I found something,” I finally said. “Here, look at this sketch. There’s no mention of a harpy feather, but what does that look like?” The sketch depicted a sorcerer stabbing a figure.
“A knife?”
“It’s a harpy feather,” I said. “And he’s using it to kill a god.”
I knew what I had to do. It wasn’t going to be enough to trap Hecate in the underworld this time. I was going to have to kill her.
“What should we do now?”
“Now we need to find the last item of power,” I said. “And then we need to use them to stop Hecate.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Claire and I took turns poring over the Book of Fates, but it provided no other clues. There were other urgent issues demanding my attention. I needed to talk to Willow about Trey.
Without my left arm, it was difficult to create spells, but I was learning to work with my right arm. To go after Wren and the bead, I’d need to re-master a few spells. And then I’d go after Wren and make everything right again. Or as close to it as I could, considering the number of deaths I’d caused by my rash actions.
Trey Marin had managed to hang on, but it was by sheer will. He hadn’t morphed into a flesh eater, but he was no longer in control, either. His eyes had a feral look and he watched us like he was choosing which steak he would barbeque. He was in an isolated area of the hospital. Emmett had volunteered to keep watch over him, but Trey was hours away from trying to eat someone.
Two days passed without any progress on the cure. We were sweating in the summer heat and the mosquitos ate us alive. It was getting harder and harder to find food for the flesh eaters Hecate had created. They were hungry.
There were two buckets of zombie chow left. Talbot and I had feeding duty. I grabbed a bucket and he did the same and we headed to the pit.
“What are we going to do with them if Doc and Alex don’t find a cure?” I asked Talbot.
He gave me a somber look. “There’s only one thing we can do.”
“It’s not going to come to that.” The thought of slaughtering them was grim, but we couldn’t let them loose on society.
We’d finished feeding time when Doc arrived. “I have good news,” he said. He reached into the ratty trench coat he always wore and pulled out several vials. “The cure.”
“You did it?”
“Alex did it,” he said.
“Where is he?” I said. “I want to say thank you.”
“They’re already gone,” he said. “They left this morning.”
“But I wanted to say good-bye,” I said. Elizabeth had been in Minneapolis all this time and I’d spent little more than an hour with her.
“It’s better this way, Nyx,” he said. “We have work to do.”
I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right. “Let’s get started,” I said.
“There’s only one problem,” Doc said. “It won’t work on the host.”
“You mean Baxter won’t be cured?” Talbot asked. “Who is going to tell him?” The flesh eater had been staying in a room on the far side of the fort. Unlike Hecate’s creations, once his hunger was sated, he regained his civility.
“I will,” I said. “But we should treat Trey first.”
“Already done,” Doc said. “He was my test subject. That’s how I know it works.”
“What about the others?”
“I need a bucket of blood to distribute the cure to the flesh eaters,” he said. “Pig’s blood should work.”
I sent Emmett to a slaughterhouse north of the city. “It’s about an hour drive,” I said.
After he left, I went to talk to Baxter. He had a bottle of absinthe (mine), which he was chugging enthusiastically. It wouldn’t hurt to wait until Emmett returned to break the news.
But Emmett didn’t return until three hours later. He had a broken nose, but carried a bucket of blood and guts. Talbot took it from him and went to feed the flesh eaters. Their shrieks of hunger had been getting on everyone’s nerves.
“What happened?” Doc asked.
“A couple of demons in cop clothes stopped me,” Emmett said. “They caught me by surprise. But I fought the
m off.”
“How did they know where to find you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was careful leaving the fort.”
Talbot and I exchanged glances.
“At least none of the blood spilled,” Emmett said. It was his polite way of reminding us that we had zombies to cure.
I held up the vials. “Are you sure this is enough for all of them?” I asked Doc.
He looked offended. “Do you doubt my medical ability?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I don’t doubt you at all.”
A strange expression crossed his face. I realized it was the closest thing Doc had to a smile.
We mixed the cure with the pig’s blood. “We just fed them a few hours ago,” I said.
Grunts and wails came from the pit. “From the sound of things, they’re still hungry,” Talbot said.
He lowered the bucket on a rope. There was the sound of frenzied slurping.
“How do we know everyone got a taste?” I asked.
“The ones who don’t try to eat you are cured,” Doc said wryly.
“How long does it take?” Talbot asked, peering into the pit.
“It took about twenty minutes for Trey,” he said. “But the more flesh they eat, the worse it is.”
A few hours later, we were hauling out bewildered magicians, satyrs, and naiads.
“You’re free now,” Doc said. “Go home to your families.”
“What happened to us?” a tall satyr with dreadlocks asked.
“We’ll explain later,” Talbot said soothingly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Baxter came rushing out. “You did it! You found a cure?” The hope in his voice made my heart hurt.
“Baxter, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Doc said.
Baxter’s excitement faded. “What is it?”
“I don’t think it will work on the host,” Doc replied.
“The host? I don’t understand.”
“You’re the host, Baxter,” I said.
“Let me try,” he said desperately. “Please.”
Doc reluctantly handed him a vial.
Baxter gulped it down. “Now what?”
“We wait,” Doc said. “The longer you’ve been exposed, the longer the cure will take.”
“Then we have a very long wait indeed,” Baxter replied.