Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Erasmus
Selfishly, I wanted Aurelia back, if only for a little company. But it wasn’t safe here. Maybe McCallister could hurt Aurelia, or maybe he couldn’t. To even consider it seemed ludicrous. The thought that McCallister might be able to damage a being that fairies and brownies feared… It sounded ridiculous. For reasons unknown, I’d never considered myself a threat to Aurelia. I could be, but I’d made a choice not to. Sometimes I wondered if that’s what fascinated her so much about me. Aurelia had said it herself—choice. It was the ultimate goal for most. and especially for a djinn. It was their holy grail, their pipe dream, their own personal wish.
I’d had a choice when it came to Aurelia and I’d made it.
My body had long gone from slumped in pain to frigidly numb. I needed food, or more precisely, I needed sugar. The signs were steadily growing stronger. Using my necromancer abilities always dropped my blood glucose levels. If I overexerted myself, they’d remain problematic for days. I hadn’t had nearly enough time to recover from all the stress I’d placed on my system the last few days, let alone weeks. I was in a downward spiral and my body wouldn’t be able to pull me out of the fire without a little outside assistance.
Eyes fluttering, I didn’t know if I should wish my low blood sugar levels would take me out or not. It would be a lot easier way to go than what I figured McCallister had in store for me. I had no idea what he considered being good entailed. If it was sitting on your ass, unable to move and barely able to comprehend what was going on around you, then I was all set to be good . At this point, I didn’t really have a choice.
My eyes burned with tears I absolutely refused to shed. I wouldn’t give McCallister the satisfaction, not that I really knew if he cared if I cried or not. Thinking of that asshole made me furious. He wasn’t just psychotic—he was prejudiced too. He’d practically wet himself when he thought of taking my abilities. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t relish the thought of McCallister shredding my soul like he did to the others. But it grated, knowing that he didn’t want to dirty himself with further necromancer abilities like mine. He found what I could do horrific and distasteful, as if he had a leg to stand on.
“Jackass,” I mumbled to absolutely no one. Regardless, saying the word out loud made me feel a little better. Just a teeny, tiny bit.
I gave a little cry as my body fell to the side, hands still tied behind my back and my cheek now pressing against the freezing bricks. Weren’t basements supposed to be warm? Or at least not feel like an icebox? I didn’t want to take the time to consider it might not really be that cold and that it was just my failing body.
My new perspective gave me a better view of the circle drawn on the floor. It was weird seeing it from this angle. It had looked so clear when I was slumped, head up. Now I could see the imperfections, the little flecks of red that raised off the brick and threatened to scuff away.
An idea took root. While I didn’t have a lot of energy, I could wiggle my body a little. My tennis shoe-clad feet hit a section of outer sigils. Shifting my foot back and forth, I hoped I managed to wipe some of it away. I inwardly snickered while thinking that McCallister definitely wouldn’t think this was good behavior. No, this was bad. This was definitely bad, and I was more than happy to flip to the dark side.
“A decent idea, but I’m afraid it’s pointless.” McCallister’s words hummed with humor. “The top layer is only there to give me visual assistance. The sigils are permanently burned into the bricks with a combination of my blood and other, more flammable ingredients. I’m afraid you’re just wearing yourself out. But if it’s making you feel better, then by all means, continue.”
My feet stuttered to a stop. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my body righted again and soon gave up. Lying on my side was it and I’d just have to accept the fact. Given my unique perspective, I could only make out McCallister’s dress shoes as he walked back and forth through the room. Humming met my ears and I realized it was McCallister. He appeared to be in a good mood, and anything that made him happy immediately raised the hair on the back of my neck.
“Your father will be here soon. This place is heavily warded, and I felt the tug when he scried for your whereabouts. I could have blocked him. I’m capable of that, you know,” McCallister bragged. “I wasn’t before I took Rebecca and Phineas’s abilities. It’s a shame that warlocks and witches can’t put their pasts behind them. If they chose to work together… Hmm, let’s just say that Fairy would not be pleased.”
Yeah, speaking of Fairy… “What do you think the fairies will do when they find out what you’ve done?” It was a rhetorical question. We both knew what they’d do, and it wouldn’t end with McCallister enjoying a long life.
“The question is pointless. They don’t know and they never will. And even if they do, by the time they figure it out, I’ll be too powerful for them to stop.”
“Pretty confident about that.”
“No reason not to be,” McCallister easily answered. “Captain Cicely couldn’t even get the Magical Usage Council interested in this case. I doubt they’d have better luck with Fairy.”
I kind of hated how right he was. Still, fairies didn’t like others flagrantly breaking their laws. That kind of thing pissed them off, and pissing off fairies wasn’t a way to stay alive.
I wanted to pound my head against the brick floor. Why hadn’t I thought to ask Aurelia to do that? I could think of a couple of fairies that Aurelia could have gone to that would have enjoyed taking McCallister down a notch or ten.
“I’ve never met your father. What’s he like?” McCallister asked calmly.
“He’s an arrogant, powerful warlock that loves his son. What do you think he’s going to be like? Oh, he’s also vindictive. I forgot to mention that part, but it seems like it might be important right about now.”
McCallister laughed. “You’re far more entertaining than I thought you’d be. I almost hate to kill you. Almost,” he finished with a chuckle. “But needs must.” McCallister sighed. “I’m afraid you know far too much. Depending on how things go, I may make it easy on you. I’ve still got the gun I finished Bart Livingston off with. That would be quick. I’m not sure about painless, but I believe it would be better than ripping your body to shreds. After taking your father’s abilities, I’ll also be too tired to do much more than put a bullet in you.”
My limited view of the floor didn’t allow me to see McCallister’s facial expressions, but I could envision them well enough. The casually callous, indifferent way he spoke of my death made his thoughts on the matter crystal clear. I was no more than a stepping stone in his batshit crazy ladder. Pops was the true prize.
McCallister’s shuffling feet stopped and he let loose an excited squeal. “He’s here. Best get ready to greet him. It’s a rare occasion, standing in the same room with a warlock of Nikodemus Holland’s caliber.”
Dear Gaia, the hero worship in his voice made me feel more ill than before. How was that even possible?
“Time to sit up and play bait properly. I wouldn’t want your father thinking I’ve already done away with you, what with you lying there looking all pathetic.”
McCallister’s shoes came back into view, along with his slacks. Fingers gripped my shoulders and hauled me back into a sitting position. A fresh wave of nausea churned my stomach as the room spun. Closing my eyes didn’t help much, but it did allow me to keep all my stomach contents carefully contained.
A groan slipped through my lips and McCallister’s breath tickled my ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”
My heart raced. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted… Gaia, I wanted to be back at home, Franklin’s arms wrapped around me and a glass of sweet tea in my hand. I wanted Pops sitting on the porch with us, Momma sitting opposite as she fussed and grinned about how sweet Franklin and I looked together. It was a beautiful picture. It was a vision I feared would never come to fruition.
“Almost here.” McCallister sounded giddy with anticipation.
Dread filled me. Had Aurelia come through? Did Pops know what he was walking into? Could he know, even with Aurelia’s warning? I wasn’t certain how the circle on the floor worked, only that I’d seen the evidence that something Morgan McCallister did had been successful. He’d been careful before— choosing victims who wouldn’t be missed. Pops was different. I was different. Clearly McCallister no longer feared discovery.
The basement door didn’t creak open; it exploded, splintering. Those splinters were contained within a protective barrier. If I hadn’t been inside, Pops would have let them fly, hoping they hit a fleshy target.
The absent door left Pops standing there in all his warlock fury. Gaia, he was impressive. He was also livid. I’d never seen Pops’s eyes like that—cold and packed full of venom. His tall, broad figure took up the entire doorway, but it wasn’t his physical presence that sent the hairs on the back of my neck standing. It was the power radiating off him.
Pops’s eyes quickly scanned the room, racing back to me, narrowing on the individual holding a gun to my temple. At least, I figured that was the cold metal I felt pressing against my flesh. All his ill-gotten power, and McCallister still relied on human weaponry. The disgusted look on Pops’s face said loud and clear what he thought of the gun.
McCallister’s breathing increased, but I doubted it was due to fear. The man had a real hard-on when it came to Pops, and when he spoke, his words were breathy with excitement. “Warlock Holland, how nice of you to—”
“Release my son.” Pops’s deep voice echoed through the room, reverberating through my brain and inadvertently making my headache worse.
“All in good time. First I’d like to—”
“Erasmus, are you injured?” Pops ignored McCallister, treating him as if he were insignificant.
“Been better,” I croaked and managed a half-assed grin. “This guy’s an asshole.”
Pops’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, I sort of figured that out seeing as how he has a human weapon pointed at your head.”
“Noticed that, did you? Embarrassing really. He keeps bragging about all the things he can do but—” I hissed a pained breath as something sharp cut into my neck. Warm blood spilled down my skin, cooling as it fell.
“Oh, I can do a lot more than that,” McCallister growled, shoving his clawed hand in front of my face, my blood dripping off one pointed tip.
Pops’s fingers curled, their blackened tips hidden within his grip. I could tell he wanted to throw everything he had at McCallister, but he couldn’t, not with a gun shoved against my head.
“If you kill him, I will tear you apart, bit by bloody bit. I will do it slowly. I will keep you alive as long as possible, dragging out your torment. I will make you beg for death.” I’d always considered Pops a good warlock. He didn’t harm others for shits and giggles. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully capable of making good on his threat.
McCallister wasn’t intimidated. Instead, he laughed. “Interesting, how you care so much for your defective, necromancer son.”
“I will rip the flesh from you bones for implying my son is defective in any way.” Pops huffed and his mouth pulled into a tight grimace.
“Touching, but wasteful.” I felt McCallister’s head shake against mine. “Your son is little more than a weakness I’m able to exploit. And speaking of exploiting your relationship, if you’d kindly step forward. Just three little steps is all I’m asking. Well, I suppose I’m not really asking.” I flinched as the gun pushed my head to the side, the increased pressure more than my neck muscles could handle.
Pops’s face flushed scarlet as his eyes flicked to the floor. There was no way he didn’t see the circle. I could see flickers of confusion mixed with understanding.
“I’d say this is clever work, but that would be a compliment you do not deserve.” Pops’s gaze darted from sigil to sigil. “It is crude, but I understand it has been effective.” Pops’s eyebrows slid upward. “You truly expect me to willingly walk into that?” He pointed a finger at the floor.
“If you don’t, then your son dies. The choice is yours,” McCallister casually answered.
“And I’ve already informed you what will happen if you murder my son.”
“True, but somehow I think his life is more important than your vengeance.”
Pops’s mouth twisted. I wanted to apologize, to beg him to turn around and walk out the way he’d come in. My life wasn’t worth this. I loved Pops, just as he loved me. If the situation were reversed, I’d walk into that circle, my own life be damned.
Head tilted to the side, Pops said, “And what if there is a third option?”
“There is no third option. There is only—”
“Detective,” Pops calmly said while shifting slightly to the side.
My mouth slipped open while my heart soared before falling like a stone. Franklin was here too. They were both here, willing to risk their lives for me. Stupid, wonderful Franklin.
“Hey, Boone.” Franklin eased past Pops, his gun level and trained on what looked like me. I figured he was aiming for McCallister. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look like shit.”
My chuckle was dry. “Feel like shit too.”
“Yeah? I brought a bucket of candy with me. Chocolates and juice too. We’ll get you sugared up soon. Just hang on a little bit longer for your father and me to take out the trash.”
Franklin talked a good game. His eyes remained focused and beyond that first glance my direction, he remained concentrated on a spot just over my shoulder.
“Detective O’Hare.” McCallister didn’t exactly sound worried, but he did sound cautious. “I always thought you had better taste than getting involved with a necromancer.” McCallister said my species like it was a sickness. While he wasn’t simply a necromancer, that was part of what made McCallister tick. Maybe that was his problem—at his very core, he loathed himself.
“I’ve got impeccable taste,” Franklin answered. “Do we want to wager who’s quicker on the trigger?”
I sucked in a shallow breath. My neck no longer felt like it was actively bleeding. It was cool and sticky, adding to my discomfort as I sat there, a pawn in an wild west duel.
“You think I won’t shoot him? You think—”
A gunshot rang out and I cringed. I thought for a moment that it was McCallister, but it wasn’t. A thin whisp of smoke traveled from the end of Franklin’s gun. The bullet should have found its mark. It hovered there, just to the right of my peripheral vision, cutting close to my head but aimed directly at McCallister. It was a brilliant shot. It was a pointless shot.
Franklin’s face relaxed into a state of shock before hardening with fear. McCallister’s laughter bounced off the walls.
“Oh, Detective O’Hare, did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for you? I’m well aware of your relationship, disturbing as it is.” The suspended bullet fell to the ground with a thud. “Your bullets can’t reach me.” McCallister’s fingers tightened on my skin. “Now, let me show you what I can do.”
Without moving the gun from my head, McCallister released the fingers gripping my skin. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear his words. I’d heard similar from Pops over the years and understood enough to realize McCallister was weaving a spell.
Pops moved, but it wasn’t in time. Whatever McCallister did threw Franklin across the room, slamming his body into the wall. I heard Franklin’s head smack against stone and his gun clatter to the floor.
“Franklin!” I screamed, my throat raw and my heart pounding with fear. I leaned forward, desperate to get out of McCallister’s hold. Pain exploded, spiderwebbing through my brain from a singular impact point. I didn’t have time to wonder if I’d been shot, if I was dying, or if I’d ever see Franklin or Pops again. Darkness engulfed me and blessed silence eased my agony.