Second Skin Part 30

Second Skin Part 30

Sunny smiled grimly. "Like a motherf.u.c.ker."

"Okay, then. Take Bryson's car and get out of here.

It's not safe."

"Oh, no," said Sunny. She got out and crossed her arms, staring up at me. "I'll wait in the car, but I won't be sent away like some sidekick."

"I don't have time to argue with you," I warned. The BlackBerry hung like a weight in my pocket.




"Then don't," Sunny said. "Get cracking. Kick a.s.s."

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, getting into the car. I took the disposable syringe out of the car's first-aid kit and flicked the cap off, drawing a full measure of the tincture into the barrel. I stuck it up my sleeve, letting the hypo hold it in place, and put the rest of the tincture in my jacket.

Then I drove through the cemetery gates.

CHAPTER 21.

Garden Hill Cemetery isn't used to actually bury people anymore. It got filled up some time in the 1950s, and just before the Hex Riots there was a scandal involving gravediggers exhuming the bodies of Nocturne City's forefathers to resell plots. They dumped the bodies down in Waterfront, where I guessed they hoped to pa.s.s the desiccated remains off as Halloween props, or reanimated mummies.

The cemetery itself is poorly lit, with intermittent roads that go nowhere and plenty of sunken graves waiting to break your ankle. When I worked the area as a patrol officer, the most trouble I got was when I was a.s.signed to the Bowers over Halloween and had to deal with a pack of wannabe blood witches attempting to sacrifice a cat. Our watch commander adopted the cat, and I let the nascent black magick workers get a flash of my were teeth, which settled them down pretty quickly.

If only it were that easy now.

The crooked sign pointing to the historical part of the grounds was obscured with a were pack's spray-can tag, but I knew the place well enough from rousting junkies and lover's lane couples to make the turns through the gathering fog without too much trouble. The Fairlane pulled under me as I took a corner too fast and clipped a headstone. "Sorry," I muttered to the displaced spirit.

My eyes swung back to the road and I screamed as a shape darted in front of my car, slamming on the brakes out of reflex. The Fairlane fishtailed sideways, laying up against a monument, and my head whipped forward, clipping the steering wheel. A trickle of blood leaked into my eyes.

From outside, just out of view in the fog, I heard laughter. "Poor little detective dog. Did you get a bruise?"

"Hurt a lot more than that little p.r.i.c.k you gave me," I yelled back, fighting to disentangle myself from my seat belt. My door was dented in, and I kicked it open. " 'Little' being the operative word there. Where are you, Lucas?"

"Behind you," he hissed, and hands wrapped around my shoulders, talons sinking into my skin below the collarbone. I tried to duck him, but my feet were off the ground and I was flying before I could breathe.

The headstone I landed against wasn't particularly soft, but it broke under the impact and saved me from crushing my spine like fresh celery. My knife wound opened again and started to seep.

"Putting your blood in the air?" Lucas shouted at me. "Are you really that arrogant, Luna? You think you stand any sort of chance against me?"

I saw him appear against the lights from the street, on top of a small burial mound. He was just a hunched black shape, his pointed ears stabbing through the fog and his teeth shining out of his shadow-body.

"I have to say, you've lived this long," Lucas called.

"You might might actually have some survival instincts. But actually have some survival instincts. But she she doesn't." doesn't."

Two Wendigo, still human, dragged Carla up to meet him. She was struggling, but feebly, and I saw one of the Wendigo give her a shot in the neck of the stuff they'd gotten me with. That night in the Plaza seemed decades ago now.

"Leave her alone!" I screamed, standing up even though it hurt more than sticking my toe into a paper shredder. "You have a fight with me, not with her."

"Oh, I disagree," said Lucas. "My fight is with every last one of you sniveling b.i.t.c.hes. But you had your chance, Luna. Her blood will spill just as red as yours."

Lucas walked over to Carla and without any ceremony or hesitation drove his talons into her chest, drinking her blood down. His face was calm, peaceful, as she twitched under his grip. It seemed impossibly slow, but it was less than ten seconds before she crumpled, dead, at Lucas's feet.

"Stupid mutt," Lucas hissed. He toed the body in disgust. "Get her away from me."

I had started moving when Lucas began to feed on Carla, but I was intercepted by Ponytail. He flowed into the s.p.a.ce in front of me, seeming to take no time at all, and stuck out his arm. One moment I was bearing down on Lucas; the next I was on my back, vision totally black and a pain in my lungs as my throat closed from a blow.

The Wendigo shook out his arm, a bruise blossoming where he'd clotheslined me. "She's solid. Fast, too."

"Leave her with me," said Lucas. "Since you couldn't keep a leash on her before."

"Lucas, I told you . . ."

"At this late date, Charlie, do you really want me to hear your excuse?" Lucas said. "I swear, you wild pieces of s.h.i.t will be the death of me."

Charlie whimpered and then I heard the rasp of Carla's body being dragged away.

Lucas leaned down, brushing hair away from my face. "Breathe. Breathe, Luna. I prefer live meat." He chuckled. "That's five. And not a thing you did stopped me. Poor little puppy."

He stroked my cheek, and I batted him away, rolling to my feet. "Why don't you come on out and join this party, Donal?" I shouted to the graves. "I know you're watching. That's your game."

Lucas flowed forward and backward in alarm, snarling at me. "You don't know what you're saying!"

I looked him in the eye. "I'm not talking to you, Wiskachee. I'm talking to Donal Macleod."

He came walking, with only a slight limp from our last fight, from behind a mausoleum. Two of the alley goons hung back in the shadows. "Too clever by half, just like all Insoli. That gutter cleverness, which I despise."

"There is no shaman," I said. "You gave that fetish to Jason Kennuka and let Wiskachee possess him."

He spread his hands. "Guilty."

"You had the weres killed by Wendigo so it would look like a vendetta."

"I did." He stroked the scar that ran down from his mouth. "Your deductive reasoning is top-notch, missy. Aren't you a bit curious why I'm unconcerned?"

Actually, I was, but I'd been hoping he wouldn't notice. From behind me, Lucas started circling and I backed up against the mausoleum, trying to keep Donal and him both in sight.

Donal took a fetish from his pocket, much like the one that I'd found in Jason's apartment, except I could see see the magick around this one, black and curling with a merciless hunger. "This is the part where I tie up loose ends." the magick around this one, black and curling with a merciless hunger. "This is the part where I tie up loose ends."

He raised the fetish so its mouth gaped at Lucas. "Wiskachee, necht tagh." "Wiskachee, necht tagh."

"What-" Lucas said, and the fetish stirred, opened its mouth and eyes, and groaned. The ground under me vibrated and I stared as Lucas's thin gray Wendigo skin stripped off, revealing smooth pink muscle and bones like liquid silver.

Lucas screamed, a very human scream, and fell to the ground. "I don't believe believe in it!" he shouted as Donal stood over him, wielding the fetish like a demonic vacuum. in it!" he shouted as Donal stood over him, wielding the fetish like a demonic vacuum.

"That's what made you useful, boy," said Donal. "I didn't buy your services away from those idiot Loup because you were a superst.i.tious foul-up. But now you've done your job, all but the last bit."

The fetish ate, jaws twitching like it was alive, and Lucas writhed. His screams turned into whimpers, and finally he could barely breathe. As Donal watched with a smug expression, I grabbed him by the throat and bent him over a gravestone.

"Why? He did his job!" I tightened my grip. "You got him possessed by a f.u.c.king dead G.o.d! You made him take down all of the pack leaders-anyone who posed a f.u.c.king threat." I warmed, seeing all the pieces of what Donal had done fall together in my mind. "You made He did his job!" I tightened my grip. "You got him possessed by a f.u.c.king dead G.o.d! You made him take down all of the pack leaders-anyone who posed a f.u.c.king threat." I warmed, seeing all the pieces of what Donal had done fall together in my mind. "You made yourself yourself G.o.d. Wasn't that G.o.d. Wasn't that enough enough?"

Donal's goons dragged me off, and I fought, kicking out at whatever I could hit. Macleod coughed and straightened his collar. "Except for you, and that's a real shame, missy." He walked up and slapped me, splitting my bottom lip. "For the choking. You need manners." On the ground, Lucas moaned softly, his eyes rolled back in his head. He was human, blood streaming from a hundred shallow bite marks all over his body.

"You can't just cut out the opposition," said Donal. "You've got to solidify your position. And there's nothing like a little apocalypse to do that." He took Lucas's silver knife away from him and drove it through Lucas's chest in an economical movement. Lucas twitched and went still. Donal wiped off the knife and gave it to the goon not holding me.

"That's the blood. Get me the sage and that printout I have to read from." He checked his watch. "Our mutual friend will hold up his end. Before tonight is out, I'll be the only pack were in Nocturne City worth considering."

Before I could articulate my thoughts, which right at that moment ran to f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, the ground began to vibrate ever-so-slightly, as if a train were about to pa.s.s us by. the ground began to vibrate ever-so-slightly, as if a train were about to pa.s.s us by.

"You think the packs will just welcome you in? Alpha of alphas? Some kind of G.o.ds-d.a.m.n kingdom?" I shouted at Donal. He lit the sage stick and began to smudge the air.

"Yes, when I stop the Wiskachee from feeding on their spineless hides."

He held up his b.l.o.o.d.y hand, letting it drip over the patchy earth of the cemetery. "Wiskachee gen kah, muscun ne kah. Nis kee." "Wiskachee gen kah, muscun ne kah. Nis kee." Translating ostensibly for my benefit, Donal said. "Wiskachee, I come to you now with the blood of the unwary. I kneel." Translating ostensibly for my benefit, Donal said. "Wiskachee, I come to you now with the blood of the unwary. I kneel."

Donal knelt down and pressed his hands into the earth. "I come to you now with anger in my heart, and I kneel."

The shaking increased exponentially, rising and falling like something were breathing below us in a great chamber.

Donal raised his palms upward and I felt something unpleasant wrap around us, heavier and hotter than the wet air from the bay. "I come to you now with hunger in my soul, Wiskachee, and I kneel," Donal whispered. "Come to me, devourer."

As Donal touched his b.l.o.o.d.y palms to the earth once more, the third earthquake hit.

The two weres looked alarmed, but Donal only laughed. "Good man, Danny. Right on time!"

I thought of the three working circles behind the cabins, the ones that had absorbed my unwary blood. It wasn't blood magick or caster magick, but they worked something all the same, and it was here.

There was a roar like I was in the path of a semi truck and the ground rippled underneath me, throwing me onto my side and smacking me against a headstone. Donal grabbed on to a stone angel. The two thugs fell on their a.s.ses. I was free, if a bit concussed.

All around the cemetery, graves began to uproot, stones flung into the air as the ground shook. Coffins rose through the shuddering, cracking ground, spilling their contents free. I clung to the headstone I'd hit, feeling a few fingernails snap off as the force of the quake yanked me back and forth.

At the center of it all Donal watched calmly as a chasm opened at his feet and disgorged a host of old-style pine boxes, their nails shrieking as the dry wood shattered on impact.

"Wiskachee!" his voice carried over the roaring and shaking, the sound of car alarms and falling brick from the street. "Wiskachee! Come!"

Just as it had risen to a crescendo faster than I could react, the shaking stopped. A crack in the earth had opened in front of Donal and the still body of Lucas, mummified and embalmed bodies littered everywhere as if an enormous dog had dug them up. From the city beyond, I could see fire and imagined I could hear the screams that went with it.

"Disappointed?" I called to Donal, forcing my vibrating hands to let go of the headstone. My speech was thick and I wiggled my jaw, feeling a fresh bruise from where I'd hit rock.

"No," said Donal, his eyes bright with reflected flames. "It worked out exactly."

From the turned earth near his foot, a hand emerged. It was gnarled and nut-brown, with long gray nails that looked sharp as butcher knives. Another hand followed it, arms, a head full of wild iron gray hair. The thing pulled itself out of the grave chasm hand-over-hand, sliding along until, grunting, it came upright.

"Wiskachee," Donal murmured. The thing scented the wind with thin, snake-like nostrils and then grinned, displaying teeth that would make any Wendigo weep in envy. They shouldn't fit, fit, teeth that big, I thought desperately, but Wiskachee's fangs were blacker than an ink bottle spilled in the night, and razored at the tips like steak knives. teeth that big, I thought desperately, but Wiskachee's fangs were blacker than an ink bottle spilled in the night, and razored at the tips like steak knives.

Around his feet, a host of brakichaks brakichaks spilled up from the chasam, giggling and chittering as they scrambled away into the night. spilled up from the chasam, giggling and chittering as they scrambled away into the night.

"That's it?" I said, trying to keep my mouth moving so my mind wouldn't be able to fully process what was happening. If I let myself stop and think, I'd panic. "That's your hunger G.o.d? He looks like a d.a.m.n piece of lawn statuary. I could take him home and stick him in the rosebushes."

Donal laughed silently, his shoulders shaking. "Her," he told Wiskachee. "You can have her."

Wiskachee, at his full height, came to maybe my collarbone, with his dirty gray hair making it to my nose. He was long-armed and potbellied and had bright pure black eyes, like the daemons I'd encountered. Wiskachee was no daemon, though. His little stooped shoulders and his skin like a wrinkled, rotted fruit contained power I could taste. When Donal told him to have at me, he smiled, child-like, and hissed something in the Wendigo language too fast for me to hear.

"Take as much as you want," Donal answered. "You have until I call you back to earth."

Wiskachee looked at me, smiled, and winked. Then his long arm lanced out and embedded claws in Donal's chest. I realized the gray around him was spectral, and that he hadn't sunk his claws into flesh but into the magick that made Donal a were. Black flowed in to cover the bright, misty green that hung around Donal's spirit. I felt a sharp pull as he began to suck it all away, and I started to scream in concert with Macleod.

Donal began to change, losing his skin and hair and becoming the construct of Wiskachee, like his niece. Wiskachee gloried in his death, and I buried my head on my knees, trying to keep the feedback of ambient magick away from me, because Pathing in such an atmosphere would probably kill me.

As suddenly as they'd started, the sounds stopped. I opened my eyes and saw something wholly different than when I'd closed them. Wiskachee was no longer stooped and ancient, clothed in gray sc.r.a.ps of power. His corporeal figure remained, but behind it was a vast shadow that rose into the sky and expanded outward as the volume in my head increased. This This was Wiskachee, this great towering hunger that blotted out everything else. His corporeal construct couldn't hold the ancient, bottomless nothing that was at the center of his power. was Wiskachee, this great towering hunger that blotted out everything else. His corporeal construct couldn't hold the ancient, bottomless nothing that was at the center of his power.

"Stop it," I tried to say, but screaming seemed to be the only sound left to me. Wiskachee laughed, his shadow-face opening a mouth the size of my car to display serrated teeth.

"He'll taste them all," Donal hissed from his new mouth. "Every last person in this city sucked dry."

I rose and ran at Donal. He turned and extended his taloned hands toward me, and I felt the pain from five yards away as he sank his claws into my aura.

"Bad girl," he rumbled thickly. "Trying that same old trick. I can drink your soul down now, little wolf. Any other brilliant plans?"

The mocking tone in his voice did it. Even when I'm nearly dead and being psychically drained, being patronized by crazy people is not something that I'll take smiling. Around my growing fangs, I snarled.

"Just one."

"Fighting back." Donal sighed. "How I'd hoped you wouldn't. Cheapens the moment." He closed the s.p.a.ce between our physical bodies, drawing back his talons to sink into my heart. I stayed still.

"Terror-stricken," Donal said. "Delicious."

"Waiting for you to get close," I corrected, and jammed the needle holding the tincture into his neck.

Donal howled and windmilled away from me, the spell lighting up his veins as the magick of Wiskachee fought with Sunny's working. He flickered back and forth, limbs and organs shifting and re-forming as blood sprayed from his mouth, leaked from his eyes, and he fell over, convulsing.

With a great effort, I blocked out the screams and stared into Donal's face, into those black, amused eyes that were like the b.u.t.ton eyes on a particularly creepy child's doll.

"He's a killer," I told Wiskachee, pointing at Donal's lashing body. I was very weak, held up largely by Donal's claws, and my voice was too weary to come out anything but a whisper. "He killed your sacrifice. There was no willing blood spilled here today."

Wiskachee held my gaze for a moment. "Tauthka du dan?" "Tauthka du dan?" he breathed. he breathed.

"No!" Donal moaned. "Why would you listen to a wolf instead of me me? I brought you back. I believed. believed."

"Try telling the truth a little more often, Donal," I said. "You might die less."

Wiskachee hissed, his lips curling back over his teeth until all that showed in his face were razor edges.

"No," Donal bubbled, his lungs sucking with fluid.