Dead Witch Walking (26 page)

Mystified, I stared at him, and he went to sit on the corner of the table. “You might want to try a perfume with a citrus base instead of a flower.”

My eyes widened. This was not what I had been expecting, and my hand crept up to cover my neck where I had dumped a splash of that awful perfume. “Jenks helped me pick it out,” I said in explanation. “He said it covered Ivy’s smell pretty good.”

“I’m sure it does.” Nick winced apologetically. “But it has to be strong to work. The ones based on citrus neutralize a vamp’s odor, not just cover it up.”

“Oh…” I breathed, recalling Ivy’s fondness for orange juice.

“A pixy’s nose is good, but a vamp’s is specialized. Go shopping with Ivy next time. She’ll help you pick out something that works.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, thinking I could have avoided offending everyone if I had just asked for her help the first time. Feeling stupid, I closed the unnamed book and rose to get another.

I pulled the next book off the shelf, tensing when it was heavier than I thought it should be. It hit the table with a thump and Nick cringed. “Sorry,” I said, pushing the cover straight to hide that I had torn the rotting binding. Sitting down, I opened the book.

My heart gave a thump and I froze, feeling the hair on my neck stand on end. It wasn’t my imagination. Worried, I looked up to see if Nick had noticed it, too. He was staring over my shoulder at one of the aisles the book racks made. The eerie feeling wasn’t coming from the book. It was coming from behind me.
Damn.

“Rachel!” came a tiny call from the hall. “Your amulet went red, but no one’s out here!”

I shut the book and stood. There was a flickering in the air. My heart pounded when half a dozen books in the aisle pushed themselves to the back of the shelves. “Uh, Nick?” I questioned. “Is there a history of ghosts in the library?”

“Not that I know of.”

Double damn.
I moved to stand beside him. “Then what the hell is that?”

He gave me a wary look. “I don’t know.”

Jenks flitted in. “There’s nothing in the hallway, Rache. You sure that charm you gave me is working?” he asked, and I pointed at the disturbance in the aisle.

“Holy crap!” he exclaimed, hovering between Nick and me as the air started to take on a more solid form. As one, the books slid back to the front of the shelves. That was even creepier.

The mist turned yellow, then became firm. My breath hissed in through my teeth. It was a dog. That is, if dogs can be as big as ponies and have canines longer than my hand and tiny horns coming out of their heads, then it was a dog. I backed up a step with Nick, and it tracked us. “Tell me this is the library’s security system,” I whispered.

“I don’t know what it is.” Nick was ashen-faced, his slow confidence shattered. The dog was between us and the door. Saliva dripped from its jaw, and I swear it hissed when it hit the floor. Yellow smoke rose from the puddle. I could smell sulfur. What the devil was this thing?

“Do you have anything in your purse for this?” Nick whispered, stiffening as the dog’s ears pricked.

“Anything to stop a yellow dog from hell?” I asked. “No.”

“If we show no fear, maybe it won’t attack.”

The dog opened its jaws and said, “Which one of you is Rachel Mariana Morgan?”

I
gasped, my heart pounding.

The dog yawned with a little whine at the end. “Must be you,” it said. Its skin rippled like amber fire, then it leapt at us.

“Look out!” Nick shouted, pushing me clear as the slavering dog landed on the table.

I hit the floor, rolling to a crouch. Nick cried out in pain. There was a crash as the table slid into the racks. It shifted back when the dog jumped off it. The heavy plastic shattered.

“Nick!” I cried, seeing him crumpled in a heap. The monster stood over him, nosing him. Blood stained the floor. “Get off him!” I shouted. Jenks was at the ceiling, powerless.

The dog turned to me. My breath caught. Its irises were red surrounded by a sickly orange color, and its pupils were slit sideways like a goat’s. Never taking my eyes off it, I backed up. Fingers fumbling, I pulled my silver dagger from my ankle. I swear a doggy smile curved around its savage canines as I shrugged out of my coat and kicked off my old lady heels.

Nick groaned and moved. He was alive. A wash of relief swept me. Jenks was on his shoulder, yelling in his ear to get up.

“Rachel Mariana Morgan,” the dog said, its voice black and honey sweet. I shivered in the basement’s cold air, waiting. “One of you is afraid of dogs,” it said, sounding amused. “I don’t think it’s you.”

“Come find out,” I said boldly. My heart was pounding, and I adjusted my grip on my dagger as I began to tremble. Dogs shouldn’t talk. They shouldn’t.

It took a step forward. I stared, mouth agape, as its front legs lengthened, pushing itself upward into a walking position. It thinned out, becoming manlike. Clothes appeared: artfully torn blue jeans, a black leather jacket, and a chain running from its belt loop to his wallet. It had spiked hair, colored red to match its ruddy complexion. Eyes were hidden behind black plastic sunglasses. I couldn’t move from the shock of it as a bad-boy swagger came into its steps.

“I was sent to kill you,” it said in a seedy London accent, still approaching as it finished turning into a cobbled-street gang member. “I was told to make sure you died afraid, sweet. Wasn’t given much to go on. Might take a while.”

I lurched back, only now realizing it was almost on me.

With motion almost too quick to be seen, its hand jerked forward like a piston. It hit me before I knew it had moved. My cheek exploded into a fiery agony, then went numb. A second blow to the shoulder lifted me. My stomach dropped, and I crashed backward into a book rack.

I struck the floor, books pummeling me as they fell. Shaking the stars from my vision, I rose. Nick had dragged himself between two racks of books. Blood ran from under his hair and down his neck. His face wore a look of awe and fear. He touched his head, looking at the blood as if it meant something. I met his eyes across the room. The thing was between us.

I gasped as it sprang, its hands grasping. I dropped to a knee. I swung my knife, lurching as it went right through it. Horrified, I scrambled out of its reach. It kept coming. Its entire face had gone misty, reforming as my knife passed through.
What the hell was it?

“Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it mocked. “I’m here for you.”

It reached out and I turned to run. A heavy hand grabbed my shoulder. It whipped me back around. The thing held me, and I froze as its other red-skinned hand folded into a murderous-looking fist. Grinning to show startling white teeth, it pulled its arm back. It was going for my middle.

I barely got my arm down to block it. Its fist hit my arm. The sudden shock of pain took my breath away. I fell to my knees, a scream ripping from me as I clutched my arm. It followed me down. Arm held close, I rolled away.

It landed heavy and hot to crush me under it. Its breath was steam upon my face. Its long fingers gripped my shoulder until I cried out. Its free hand snaked its way under my dress and up my inner thigh, roughly searching. My eyes widened in astonishment.
What the hell?

Its face was inches before mine. I could see my shock mirrored in its sunglasses. A tongue slipped past its teeth. Warm and disgusting, it ran its tongue from my chin to my ear. Nails dug at my underwear. It savagely pulled at them, making them cut into me.

Jolted into action, I knocked the sunglasses askew. My nails dug at its orange irises.

Its surprised cry bought me a quick breath. In the instant of confusion, I pushed it off me and rolled away. A heavy boot smelling of ash lashed out, striking my kidney. Gasping, I huddled in a fetal position curved around my knife. That time I had gotten it. It had been too distracted to turn misty. If it could feel pain, then it could die.

“Not afraid of rape, sweet?” it said, sounding pleased. “You’re one tough little bitch.”

It grasped my shoulder, and I fought back, helpless against the long red fingers that pulled me stumbling up. My eyes flicked to Nick and the sound of heavy blows. He was hammering at the locked wooden cabinet with a leg from the table. His blood was everywhere. Jenks was on his shoulder, his wings red in fear.

The air blurred before me, and I staggered as I realized the thing had changed again. The hand now gripping my shoulder was smoothed. Panting, I looked up to see it had become a tall, sophisticated young man dressed in a formal frock and coat. A pair of smoked glasses was perched on its narrow nose. I was sure I had hit it, but what I could see of its eyes looked undamaged. Was it a vamp? A really old vampire?

“Perhaps you’re afraid of pain?” the vision of an elegant man said, its accent now proper enough for even Professor Henry Higgins.

I jerked away, stumbling into a book rack. Grinning, it reached after me. It picked me up and threw me across the room at Nick, who was still hammering at the cabinet.

My back hit it with enough force to knock the air from me. The clatter of my knife on the floor was loud as my fingers lost their grip. Struggling to breathe, I slid down the broken cabinet, ending up half sitting on the shelves behind the shattered doors. I was helpless as the thing lifted me by my dress front.

“What are you?” I rasped.

“Whatever scares you.” It smiled to show flat teeth. “What scares you, Rachel Mariana Morgan?” it asked. “It isn’t pain. It isn’t rape. It doesn’t seem to be monsters.”

“Nothing,” I panted, spitting at it.

My saliva sizzled as it hit its face. Reminded of Ivy’s saliva on my neck, I shuddered.

Its eyes went wide in pleasure. “You’re afraid of the soulless shadows,” it whispered in delight. “You’re afraid of dying in the loving embrace of a soulless shadow. Your death is going to be a pleasure for both of us, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Such a twisted way to die—in pleasure. It might have been better for your soul had you been afraid of dogs.”

I lashed out, striking its face to leave four scratch marks. It didn’t flinch. Blood oozed out, too thick and red. It twisted both my arms behind me, gripping my wrists with one hand. Nausea doubled me over as it pulled on my arm and shoulder. It pushed me up against the wall, crushing me. I got my good hand free and swung.

It caught my wrist before I could reach it. I met its gaze and felt my knees go weak. The gentleman’s frock had shrunk to a leather jacket and black pants. Blond hair and a lightly stubbled face replaced its ruddy complexion. Twin earrings caught the light. Kisten smiled at me, a red tongue beckoning. “You have a taste for vamps, little witch?” it whispered.

I twisted, trying to get away. “Not quite right,” it murmured, and I struggled as its features shifted yet again. It grew smaller, only a head taller than I. Its hair grew long and straight and black. The blond stubble vanished, and the complexion paled to a ghost. Kisten’s square jaw smoothed out to an oval.

“Ivy,” I whispered, going slack in terror.

“You give me a name,” it said, its voice becoming slow and feminine. “You want this?”

I tried to swallow. I couldn’t move. “You don’t scare me,” I whispered.

Its eyes flashed black. “Ivy does.”

I stiffened, trying to jerk away as it brought my wrist closer. “No!” I screamed as it opened its mouth to show fangs. It bit deep, and I screamed. Fire raced up my arm and into my body. It chewed at my wrist like a dog as I writhed, trying to pull away.

I felt skin tear as I twisted. I brought my knee up and pushed it away. It let go. I fell back panting, transfixed. It was as if Ivy stood before me, my blood dripping from her smile. A hand rose to brush the hair from its eyes, leaving a red smear across its forehead.

I couldn’t…I couldn’t deal with this. Taking a gasping breath, I ran for the door.

The thing snaked an arm out with a vampire’s quickness and jerked me back. Pain flared as it slammed me against the cement wall. Ivy’s pale hand pinned me. “Let me show you what vamps do behind locked doors, Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it breathed.

I realized I was going to die in the basement of the university library.

The thing that was Ivy leaned close. I could feel my pulse pushing at my skin. My wrist tingled warmly. Ivy’s face was inches from mine. It was getting better at pulling images out of my head. There was a crucifix around its neck, and I could smell orange juice. Its eyes were smoky with a remembered look of sultry hunger. “No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”

“I can have you anytime I want, little witch,” it whispered, the gray silk of its voice twin to Ivy’s.

I panicked, struggling helplessly. The thing that looked like Ivy grinned to show teeth. “You are so afraid,” it whispered lovingly, tilting its head so its black hair brushed my shoulder. “Don’t be so afraid. You’ll like it. Didn’t I say you would?”

I jerked as something touched my neck. A small sound escaped me as I realized it was a quick tongue. “You’re going to love it,” it said in Ivy’s throaty whisper. “Scout’s honor.”

Images of being pinned to Ivy’s chair flooded back. The thing holding me against the wall groaned in pleasure and nuzzled my head aside. Terrified, I screamed.

“Oh, please,” the thing moaned as I felt the cool, icy sharpness of teeth graze my neck. “Oh, please. Now…”

“No!” I shrieked, and it drove its teeth into me. Three times it lunged with rapid, hungry motions. I buckled in its grip. Still fastened to me, we dropped to the floor. It crushed me under it against the cold cement. Fire burned at my neck. A twin sensation rose up my wrist, joining it in my head. Shudders racked me. I could hear it sucking at me, feel the rhythmic pulls as it tried to take more than my body could give.

I gasped as a tangy sensation broke over me. I stiffened, unable to separate pain from pleasure. It was…was…

“Get off her!” Nick shouted.

I heard a thump and felt a jarring. The thing pulled itself off me.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I lay sprawled on the floor, transfixed and numb under the vampire-induced stupor. Jenks hovered over me, the breeze on my neck from his wings sending tingling jolts through me.

Nick stood with blood dripping into his eyes. He had a book in his hands. It was so large, he was struggling with it. He was mumbling under his breath, looking pale and frightened. His eyes darted from the book to the thing beside me.

It melted back into a dog. Snarling, it leapt at Nick.

“Nick,” I whispered as Jenks fanned pixy dust onto my neck. “Look out…”

“Laqueus!” Nick shouted, juggling the book against a raised knee as he flung out a hand.

The dog slammed into something and fell to the ground. I watched from the floor as it picked itself up and shook its head as if dazed. Snarling, it jumped at him again, falling back a second time. “You bound me!” it raged, melting from one form to another in a grotesque kaleidoscope of shapes. It looked to the floor and the circle Nick had made of his own blood. “You don’t have the knowledge to call me from the ever-after!” it shouted.

Hunched over the book, Nick licked his lips. “No. But I can bind you in a circle once you’re here.” He sounded hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure.

As Jenks stood on my outstretched palm and sifted pixy dust onto my ravaged wrist, the thing hammered against the unseen barrier. Smoke curled from the floor where its feet touched the cement. “Not again!” it raged. “Let me out!”

Nick swallowed hard and strode past the blood and fallen books to me. “My God, Rachel,” he said as the book dropped to the floor with the sound of tearing pages. Jenks was dabbing at the blood on my face, singing a fast-paced lullaby about dew and moonbeams.

I looked from the broken book on the floor to Nick. “Nick?” I quavered, riveted to his silhouette against the ugly fluorescent lights. “I can’t move.” Panic washed through me. “I can’t move, Nick! I think it paralyzed me!”

“No. No,” he said, glancing at the dog. Settling himself behind me, he pulled me up to sit slumped against him. “It’s the vampire saliva. It will wear off.”

Cradled in his arms and half in his lap, I felt myself start to go cold. Numb, I gazed up at him. His brown eyes were pinched. His jaw was clenched in worry. The blood ran from his scalp, making a slow rivulet down his face to soak his shirt. His hands were red and sticky, but his arms around me were warm. I started to shiver.

“Nick?” I quavered. My attention followed his to the thing. It was a dog again. It stood there, staring at us. Saliva dripped from it. Its muscles quivered. “Is that a vampire?”

“No,” he said tersely. “It’s a demon, but if it’s strong enough, it has the abilities of whatever form it assumes. You’ll be able to move in a minute.” His long face screwed up in distress as he looked at the blood splattered about the room. “You’re going to be all right.” Still keeping me in the cradle of his lap, he used my silver knife to rip the bottom of his shirt. “You’re going to be all right,” he whispered as he tied the rag around my wrist and set it gently in my lap. I moaned at the unexpected bliss that rose from my wrist at the rough movement.

“Nick?” There were black sparkles between me and the lights. It was fascinating. “There aren’t any more demons. There hasn’t been a demon attack since the Turn.”

“I took three years of Demonology as a Second Language to help me with my Latin,” he said, stretching to reach my bag as Jenks tugged it out from the wreck of the table. “That thing is a demon.” Keeping my head in his lap, he clattered through my things. “Do you have anything for pain in here?”