Minutes to Midnight (14 page)

And this ass-puppet wanted to make one the
size of a house?

Dear God…this asshole's the
conductor on the Stupid Train, and he's dragged me along for the
ride. All
aboard!

FAERiE BLOOD

I had to derail this act of insane stupidity
as quickly as I could. Coyote Flames were portals hand-carved
between the Worlds. They were the used car of transportation, the
drunk bus driver commute, the derailing roller coaster. And they
could not be directed. It was easy to make one with a little blood
and a little hermetic alchemy.

But the ending point couldn't be determined.
Someone could build one of these things and wind up in space. Dead.
The idea of making one as big as a house was horrifying. Because
whatever World you landed in could use the Coyote Flame to travel
back through. Meaning, if he nailed the Peripheral, then every
manner of nasty inside of it would be given a free ride back here
as long as that thing was open. True, Raven had said a lot of the
things in the Peripheral couldn't exist here without wearing a
living creature—but what if there were things that could? Things
she didn't know about?

Or worse…what if people went into the house,
thinking it was just a house, and got a sidekick riding them out?
No…I had to stop this before it started. Once it was built…

…
how in the hell would I
close a Cairn that big?

This was bad.

"And this is your idea?" I asked.

"Yes. You know how we're
always nodding to the Fairy kingdoms in our rituals? What if I
could bring them here? Or even better, go there? If I were
there
, she said I could
have power."

"She….who's she? Who's telling you to do
this?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He stood and
stepped out of the cell. "She's also told me the iron might not
work, so the only way to be sure your magic was nullified was to
keep you drugged. So…" He came back with another syringe. I had to
do something. If he got that back into me, I'd be out like a light,
unable to warn anybody about the boneheaded thing this idiot was
gonna do.

"
Qitrubu gisig!
" I said under my
breath, and the door to the cell slammed shut before he could get
back in.

Jack wasn't paying attention and slammed
face-first into it. He dropped the syringe and it fell between the
bars and into the cell. I lifted my legs and put my foot on top of
it and pulled it closer to me.

"You bastard," Jack hissed as he yanked on
the door repeatedly. "Open this door. Now."

"Isatum!"
I felt the heat on my wrists and ankles but the
fire didn't burn flesh, just the ropes. My shoulders and elbows did
ignite with a fire of pain all their own as I moved them. I managed
to move myself into a defensive position but my thoughts were
fogging again. Damn…were the bars really making magic hard for
me?

"Damn that bitch," Jack hissed as he stepped
back from the bar. "She said you had enough Fae blood in you that
the iron should make you weak."

I was weak—every muscle was shaking—but I
wasn't going to let him know that. But there was something more
pressing here. "Who told you I had Fae blood in me? I'm not part of
Faerie, Jack."

He narrowed his crazy eyes at me. "She said
you drank the blood of a Faerie Queen!"

I couldn't do anything but stare at him. He
was right—I had tasted the blood of Maab, the Obsidian Court's
Queen. But not because I wanted too. Mike's daughter Brendi had
forced that blood into my mouth when she kissed me.

But who…who told Jack Klinsky? And what
relevance did it have to any of this?

"I see it in your face, Darren. It's
true."

"Who told you?"

Jack took a step closer to
the cell. "Then the bars
are
having an effect on you."

"No…"

"You closed the doors. Open them. Fight
me."

I didn't have time for this. "You have no
concept of the stupidity you're about to commit. Don't you realize
if you try and make that kind of door, you're going to draw the
attention of things that'd rather have you dead than care?"

"Like I'm gonna listen to an amnesiac like
you."

"I remember everything else, you dumbass!" I
moved to the bars but didn't touch them. I didn't know why…I just
felt that I shouldn't. "You can't do this. By killing all those
people to make the pentagram, you've committed the worst in magical
crimes. You're going to draw the attention of the Ethereals and
trust me, you don't want that."

Jack took a step back from the bars.
"Bodies? What bodies?"

"The mutilated bodies the police found in
each square. Come on, Jack. I saw the pattern. You started with
Chatham to make a banishing circle, only with the blood it'll have
the opposite effect."

"I didn't mutilate any bodies." Jack backed
up further. "What is wrong with you? I was going to use that
pentagram to open a door. I didn't kill anyone."

"Then someone else did, Jack. Who's helping
you?"

He looked away. "I can't say."

"You've got to tell me, Jack. Who is helping
you? Who told you I drank Faerie blood? You can't trust them
because they're playing a dangerous game and framing you for
it."

I thought he was listening to me. I did. He
looked like he was. But looks were deceiving and so was he. He
turned from the bars and moved to a table in the corner. "I won't
believe they'd destroy me, Dags. I can't. You're just jealous
because she's mine now." He turned and lifted a rifle in his
hands.

A tranq gun.

"Jack, don't!"

I heard the
ppfft
and yelled when the
ampule with the red pom-pom on the end struck my chest, just to the
left of the bullet wound. The drugs in this thing worked
fast—faster than the syringe—and as I fell onto my side and closed
my eyes, I hoped like hell he hadn't overdosed me.

Or I'd never wake up.

OVEN MiTTS

I needed a vacation in the worst way. I told
Mike for weeks I wasn't getting enough sleep. Can't say that
anymore.

When I came to this time, I wasn't as
coherent as before. The drug hung onto everything like thick soup
dumped over my head.

See? That was a bad analogy.

I was on my back, my arms and legs pulled
out to my sides and held there pretty tight. My hands had something
on them—could be oven mitts, or at least that's what it felt like.
Either way, I couldn't move.

And I couldn't talk because there was
something shoved inside of my mouth. Tasted like…sweat socks.

I could see…sort of. Though everything
looked as if I were watching through a rain-soaked window. I
blinked several times but couldn't clear the fog. My hands and feet
were ice, and I felt a breeze brush against my skin. We were
outside, but we weren't in the Square. The sun wasn't down yet but
it was getting there, and by the look of the sky, we were in for
some serious rain. I had no idea how long I'd been in that cell but
I suspected it was late afternoon of the next day. I had to get
Stella out of the 'Pheral by midnight. And here I was playing
sacrifice with a bunch of wanna-be Satanists.

Bad choices.

I looked around and noticed
I had an audience. Maybe five of them in all. Black robes. Hoods.
Oh Christ, it was the
Cruorem
all over again. Junior style. I tried to say
something but that just brought everyone's attention to me. I did
recognize Jack, dressed in a gold robe, just like old Fafner—aka
Allard Bonville—used to wear.

"You're awake—or as awake as the drug will
allow," Jack commented. "Rest assured, you won't feel a thing when
I cut it out."

Cut it out? Cut what out?

"Jack." One of the black robes to the right
said. "You are kidding, right? 'Cause he looks like he's really
drugged."

"He is really drugged, Syl. And don't call
me Jack. In the Circle I am Agamemnon."

I'm gonna be sick.

I had sensed a bit of apprehension in that
voice that could be used to my advantage. Maybe. So I started
struggling and tried to scream through the gag. A few more of the
robes looked around and backed up.

"Stay were you are." Jack's voice was stern.
"I assure you, he's agreed to this. I saw his hands. He's one of
us."

"I didn't see his hands," a woman's voice
said. A familiar voice. A robed figure moved from the others and
came closer. She reached out and touched one of the mitts.

"Don't do that!" Jack yelled.

Too late. The mitt came off
and whatever held my wrist was cut free. I held my hand out and
thought,
Emuqa!
Whatever usually took over to wield the sword was now wielding
the
word
.

The force summoned in
the
word
struck
Jack in the chest and shoved him into the altar behind him. It
didn't take long for the others to scatter, tossing off robes and
beating the hell out of there.

The other mitt came off and the ropes were
cut. A taller person in a robe freed my ankles as Mike pulled and
yanked at the gag. "Mike…that was too close." My voice was harsh
and I had to spit the bad taste out of my mouth.

"Yeah. Next time, don't make the damn text
so cryptic." He threw the hood back. "Don't get up just yet." He
shined a penlight in my eyes. "Your pupils are dilated. He drugged
you?"

"Yeah. Twice that I know of. After that, I'm
not sure." I tried to raise a hand for someone to grab and help me
up off the ground. Or I thought I did. In reality, nothing
happened. Whatever had taken over was gone again. Oh Gawd, what the
hell did they do to me?

The smaller person, the one who'd removed
the first mitt, threw back her robe, and Illy smiled down at me.
"You look awful. And you're shaking. Here…" She pulled a blanket
from her bag (yes, it was on her shoulder) and grabbed hold of my
upper arm to help me into a sitting position. The thing was warm
and once I was upright, the real shaking began. "I think you have
hypothermia. What did they do to you?"

"B-b-basement." My teeth clacked when I
talked. She pulled the blanket closed over my bare chest.
"Wu-wu-wet pants." If I shook any faster, I'd disappear.

"Yes, I see. Mike, we need to get him out of
here and warmed up. He's going to get sick if we don't. Oh." She'd
put her hand to the back of my head and then held it out so she and
I could see. It was covered in blood. "You need a hospital, Dags.
Do you remember them hitting you in the head?"

"N-n-no." I didn't. But that didn't mean
while they were carting me into the basement or out of it, someone
hadn't dropped me. Just for kicks and giggles.

Mike came back then, his gun in his hand.
"Where's the one who took you?"

I pointed to Jack, still in his gold robe
and still sprawled out where he fell. It took a few minutes to get
control of the shaking but I managed it, and I told them what Jack
told me. Illy had already filled Mike and Raven in on what the map
and reports were for.

Jack woke in the middle of my rehash but
didn't comment. In fact, he didn't look at me at all when Mike used
the rope they'd used on me to bind him. Illy wrapped her arms
around me from the side and I leaned into her. My vision wasn't a
hundred percent, my head hurt, I was freezing, and my pants were
starting to chafe.

We were in the backyard of a house. A
six-foot fence closed it off from everything. No buildings
surrounded us, so no one could look down from a window to see any
nasty ritual stuff. Which made sense why they felt comfortable
tying a guy to the ground in broad daylight, dressing in robes, and
putting on a goat's head. I didn't actually see Jack put the goat
head on, but I was pretty sure, given his fascination with all
things Allard Bonville, he had one ready for the occasion.