The Crossing (Immortals) (14 page)

It was easier than she expected to slip out of the mansion
undetected. Presumably, the perimeter wards on Mac's estate were so powerful he didn't feel a big need for internal
security. Still, the place was crawling with servants, any
one of whom was capable of spotting Artemis's mad dash
down the garden path. Crouching low to the ground, she
ran like hell.

She drew up short about twenty feet from the estate
fence. Iron bars, even tipped with serious-looking spikes
and a nasty electrified wire, posed no problem. A relatively
simple spell would bend those bars like pipe cleaners, and
she could short out the wire with just a couple of words.
No, as always, the real difficulty was magical.

A quick probe told her Mac hadn't been bluffing when
he said no one entered or left his estate without his permission. His perimeter wards thrummed with vibrant life
magic, entirely worthy of the demigod he was.

He'd designed the barrier to repel both life-magic and
death-magic attacks. Demons and fans. The thought brought
a wry smile. Mac's magic was strong, but polarized-set to
resist one type of magic per spell. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated an assault by someone casting a merged spell. Still,
getting through wasn't going to be easy.

Keeping to the shadows of the garden's lush greenery,
Artemis followed the perimeter fence, circling toward the main gate. That would be the easiest place to break
through. The seam that allowed legitimate visitors to pass
was any warding's weakest point.

A pulsing techno-beat met her approach to the gate. As
she'd suspected-hoped, really-the muddy country lane
outside Mac's estate had become a very popular place. A
half dozen cars, including the white van Mac had called a
"people mover," sprawled in disarray along the road, doors
open, music blaring. Empty beer and whisky bottles littered
the ground, along with candy and chips wrappers. A gaggle
of skinny-assed girls-some atop the cars, others pressed up
against the fence-swayed to the rhythm of Manannan.
The whey-faced photographer who'd wrecked Mac's motorcycle paced behind them. Every so often he lifted his
camera and pointed it toward the mansion.

Mac really was quite the celebrity. Well, no wonder-the
man was hot. His young fans, so thin and careless and free,
caused a twist of envy in Artemis's heart. She'd never been
like them, unencumbered by life and duty. Her magic and
her military upbringing had always set her apart.

Artemis slid into the shadow of a broad oak. She could
just make out the feverish stream of conversation buzzing
from the road.

"... has to come out of there sometime, he can't just-"

"Could be days-"

"I'd stay out here forever for a chance to-"

"Did you see that cow he had in the car with him? I don't
know what she's got that I don't-"

"If only we could figure out a way to get in-"

"The spells I bought from that old witch-"

"Smoke and a bang. She robbed you blind, that ugly
bint did-"

And more of the same. Good. Not a real witch among
them. Artemis blocked the voices from her mind, and they
faded to a murmur.

The oak's low-hung branches shielded the mansion from view. Hopefully, Mac was still asleep in his bed.
Thoughts of that bed led to thoughts of what they'd done
there. Which led to thoughts of how angry Mac would be
when he woke up and realized what she'd done. Don't go
there, she cautioned herself. Regrets would only destroy
what was left of her balance. And balance was the only
way she was going to get through those gates.

Sinking into a crouch, she unzipped her pack. Her
hands shook as she withdrew a small, jewel-handled anthame. The blade was no longer than her middle finger.
The knife was deadly sharp, and still humming with the
magic she'd cast over Mac's bed.

A slight nausea still lingered from the death spell she'd
spoken there. She didn't relish the thought of casting another so soon, but what choice did she have? Less than five
hours remained to her meeting with Malachi, and with her
map gone, she wasn't even sure in which direction the nearest natural power sink lay. If she was late, would the demon
reneg on their contract?

She knew the answer was yes. Demons, as Mac had so
helpfully pointed out, were skilled manipulators. Malachi
was an Old One-powerful and brutally dangerous. He'd
exploit any error Artemis made to the fullest extent. Her
skin crawled as she considered one dread possibility after
the other. But angst, she knew, wouldn't help. With a little
luck, she wouldn't be late at all, and she'd retain the upper
hand. Demons were deceitful, yes, but even the most
powerful Old One was bound by the spell that had drawn
it into the human world. And Artemis's calling spell had
been perfect. Completely unbreakable. As long as she held
up her end of the bargain, the contract she'd struck with
Malachi would stand.

She laid the anthame atop one of the oak's protruding
roots and scanned the ground for the other items she'd
need. Twigs and leaves, newly fallen. Snatches of moss
and lichen. A smear of dirt. A small, white pebble.

She arranged the horde of debris on a bare patch of dirt.
The lichen and moss she bundled into a ball, forming a
rough approximation of a doll's head. A thin, flexible branch
served as a spine, with shorter twigs for arms and legs.
Leaves filled out the torso and hinted at hands and feet.

The white pebble was the key-as the golem's heart, it
would hold the magic of the animation spell. She placed it
gently in the center of the figure's torso. A new life, fashioned from death.

Drawing the anthame from its sheath, she pressed the
tip to her left ring finger. The familiar dart of pain helped
her mind keep its focus. A red bead of blood glistened on
her skin. Laying the knife on the ground, she squeezed the
wound. Blood swelled like a crimson tear.

Bowing her head, she uttered several low, guttural syllables. They cut like shards of glass on her tongue. By the
time she'd reached the end of the verse, her mouth felt
raw and foul. Her balance shifted toward the dark side of
magic. Her next words were ones of light and beauty.
Soothing, like a honey balm. Vital energy flowed. She directed it into the golem's heart.

Now came the difficult part. The two spells she'd called,
one light, one dark, would obliterate each other unless expertly blended. Artemis thought of the process as weaving,
because that was the mundane activity her magical talent
most closely resembled. But the joining spell was much
more than that. She wasn't weaving thread into cloth. She
was weaving light and darkness into life and death.

The opposing forces, drawn from her blood and from
her soul, clashed. Artemis plucked equal strands of good
and evil, entwining them by pairs into a magical web.

The cluster of dead leaves and moss began to look...
different. A mundane human eye might not have noticed,
but to Artemis, seeing and feeling with her witch's senses,
the change was clear. The golem animation had begun.

The blood-smeared pebble shone and pulsed with steady
light. The golem's moss face shifted and smoothed, taking
on a human aspect. Eyes, nose, and mouth formed. Hair
appeared-green, but humanlike nonetheless. The twig
and leaf limbs flexed, testing their newfound cohesion.

The golem soon found its balance, and turned to face
its creator. It hadn't opened its eyes. Not yet. Artemis
steeled herself. She hated this final segment of the animation spell. The golem's naming. She searched for just the
right sound, and found it.

"Tott. Time to wake up."

Mossy eyelids opened, revealing a dark, bright intelligence. Something like a smile quirked the figure's green
lips. The golem, fully alive now, bent low at the waist, then
turned a slow circle with arms extended. Sheer wonder and
gratitude lit his small face. Twig feet executed a jig.

"I am alive!" He grinned broadly.

Artemis swallowed the raw lump in her throat. "Yes.
You're alive."

"It's a wonderful feeling." The golem tilted his head
to one side. "I'm to be Tott, then? A male? Very well."
He bowed. "Tott, at your service, mistress. How may I
serve you?"

There was nothing to do but tell him. The entire purpose of a golem's life, was, after all, to serve its creator.

"On the other side of this tree, there's an iron gate. It's
heavily warded."

"Against life magic? Or death magic?"

"Both."

"Ah." The single word conveyed a wealth of sadness.
And acceptance.

A sick feeling circulated in Artemis's chest. "I need you
to open the gate. There are humans on the other side,
though. They must not be hurt."

Sober understanding flickered in the golem's dark eyes, but otherwise his expression didn't change. "Mine's to be a
very short life, then, isn't it, mistress?"

"I'm sorry, Tott. If I could give you more time... But...
I can't. I have to get through that gate as fast as I can."

"Your need is my duty, mistress. I want nothing more."

"I wish... I wish it could be otherwise."

He paused. "Shall I begin at once, mistress?"

Mutely, she nodded.

Without a backward glance, Tott turned and trotted
around the curve of the tree trunk. Heart in her throat,
Artemis eased around the oak, keeping the golem in sight.
Tott scuttled across the lawn toward the gate.

He made no attempt to hide from the fans on the other
side. A girl with purple-streaked haired caught sight of
him and squealed, pointing. Her three friends turned and
stared. The photographer hopped to attention and rushed
the fence, camera clicking.

"What is it?" one of the girls asked.

The purple-haired girl stuck her hand through the
fence. "Here, little man. Come on, that's a nice boy...."

A dark-haired girl, who'd been dancing on the hood of
a nearby car, stopped dead. "No! Gods! What're you doing? Don't call it. Get away! That thing is dangerous."

Well. At least one of Mac's fans had some sense.

The photographer lowered his camera. "What the hell
is it, then?"

"It's a golem, you idiot! Death magic!"

He laughed. "It looks like a doll."

The brunette scrambled off the car and retreated to the
far side of the road. "Well, it's not! A golem is a death animation. A slave that concentrates its creator's magic, kind
of like a laser focuses light, multiplying the power. And the
type of witches and sorcerers who animate golems..." She
shuddered. "Their magic is strong enough on its own.
Just... just don't get too close to it. You don't know what
it's been ordered to do."

The photographer took a cautious step back. About half
the fangirls did, too, retreating to the other side of the
road. The rest, good sense lost to curiosity, held their
ground.

"Fools," Artemis muttered.

Tott reached the gate. With a jump, he shimmied up the
center post, not stopping until he reached the top. Balancing nimbly on the spiked finials, he circled his twig arms
overhead. A small whirlwind rose on the ground beneath
him, swirling leaves and chip wrappers.

A murmur rippled through the onlookers. The photographer raised his camera, adjusted his focus, and
started shooting. A few more fans beat a prudent retreat.
But one or two idiots remained close to the fence.
Damn.

Artemis stepped out of the shadow of the oak. "Hey!
You there! Your friend is right-the golem is dangerous!
Get back!"

They retreated a step or two. Not enough. Artemis wiped
her palms on her jeans. She had to believe Tott would be
able to keep the bystanders safe. The little man was doing
his best to concentrate the spell on the gate's wardings. His
arms were a blur of movement.

The whirlwind rose, sending leaves and trash flying.
The force swirled directly beneath Tott, turning through
the closed gate as if it weren't there. Tott's arms circled
even more quickly. The car nearest the gate heaved an
inch off the ground and skidded across the road.

The last of the bimbos screamed and scurried to safety.
Finally. Now Tott was free to let the tornado rise.
Artemis's magic rode inside it, lifted and expanded by the
tiny man she'd created. Undiluted, her magic was strong.
Augmented by a golem's power, it was nothing short of
terrifying.

Wind buffeted Artemis's body, flinging her hair about her
face. Her senses were taut as the gate groaned and bent. The warding spells stretched, emitting an ear-piercing
squeal. Artemis shot a glance back at the mansion. Mac's
servants were gathered at the front door.

Hurry.

Perched above the maelstrom, Tott raised his head. Fear
contorted his face. "I am ready, mistress."

It was difficult to talk around the lump in her throat.
"Thank you, Tott. I won't... I won't ever forget you."

"To be remembered is all any creature can hope for."

He bowed his head. The tornado rose, enveloping the
golem's small body completely. Artemis forced herself to
watch. She owed that much, at least, to the brief life she'd
created. Her heart pounded as her magic, multiplied exponentially by Tott, flashed bright as the sun.

The golem's dying scream merged with the explosionhis death was the explosion. The blast, though expected,
hurled Artemis backward. Her butt hit the ground. Mac's
protective wardings shattered, sending shards of magic
ripping in every direction.

The fangirls shrieked and dove behind the van. Artemis
rolled, covering her head with her arms.

Then... silence.

Cautiously, Artemis lifted her head. The tornado was
gone. Shoving to her feet, she ran toward the shattered
gate amid a shower of leaves and twigs. Something small
and hard fell at her feet.

A white pebble, smeared with her own blood.

She resisted the urge to snatch it up. Tott wouldn't have
survived more than a few hours in any case; golem magic
was that short-lived. The small man, grateful for the sip of
life that never should have been his, had surrendered his
existence willingly. Would it have been better if he'd never
lived at all? Artemis didn't know. She only knew that she
would grieve for him. That was more, she supposed, than
most golems received from their creators.