Summoner of Storms (19 page)

Caleb cocked his head slightly to one side,
as if listening. “They used a big circle for Gray. It enclosed the
entire ziggurat, anyway.” He flinched and closed his eyes briefly.
“There were a lot of dead people. S-sacrifices.”

“Including the body Gray ended up in,”
Tiffany observed.

“She was different.” Caleb shook his head.
“She chose it. Fought for it. The rest weren’t voluntary, I don’t
think. Some of them were kids.” He folded his arms over his chest,
ducking his chin down, as if shielding himself from the memories
unspooling in his own skull. “Which bothers the hell out me and
Gray both. But Forsyth seems pretty okay with it, which says we’ve
got a big fucking problem on our hands if he succeeds.”

John put a hand to Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb
met his gaze, offered a small smile of thanks in return.

“All of which is why we need to stop this
before
the possession takes place,” Kaniyar said. “Based on
the pentagram, Forsyth will be here at its center. On top of the
battery.”

Caleb frowned. “Isn’t that the park on the
waterfront?”

“Battery just means a fortification with
heavy guns,” John clarified.

“The casements and parade grounds are at the
original ground level.” Kaniyar indicated them on the map. “The
Battery Huger and the earthwork behind it was built in 1899.
They’re on the same level as the tops of the fort walls.”

“So Forsyth is going to be above us,” Caleb
said. “Great.”

“And the stairs leading up will create choke
points to reach him.” Tiffany stepped back and crossed her arms.
“Nobody said this would be easy. If anyone has a better idea,
though, I’m all ears.”

No one did. “Objective one is to stop the
summoning at any cost,” Kaniyar said, sweeping her gaze over the
assembly. “Objective two is to save any prisoners we can. In the
case of Forsyth’s possessed soldiers...I know we’re trained to save
anyone whose possession is still reversible, but it’s not going to
be an option here.”

John cleared his throat. “Oh. Um. I can
probably help some of them. It, uh, seems I can pull out NHEs
without a circle now.”

Silence. Kaniyar arched a skeptical brow.
“And how is it you can suddenly do that, Agent Starkweather?”

“Etheric spunk,” Tiffany said.

Heat flooded his face. “Thanks, Tiffany. I’m
glad we can pretend we’re all in tenth grade again.” He glanced at
Caleb, who seemed to be trying not to snicker, and finally at
Kaniyar. “It seems being in close proximity to Gray can amp-up my
exorcist abilities, just as he’s increased Caleb’s TK.” There. It
at least sounded like something that could go in a report.

“Close proximity? Is that what they’re
calling it these days?” Kaniyar asked wryly. “Save anyone you can,
but not at the risk of your life or anyone else’s.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

She eyed the assembly again. “Anyone else
developing interesting abilities? Dating NHEs? No?” She folded her
hands at the small of her back. “Then it’s show time, people. Let’s
go out there and show Forsyth what SPECTR is really made of.”

* * *

Caleb clung to his seat at the front of the
boat as it practically skipped across the bay, aiming for the low,
boxy silhouette of Fort Sumter. The low glow of lights hung over
it—was the fort normally lit at night? The moon neared full, the
newly fallen night cloudless. The stiff wind kicked up intermittent
whitecaps on the water. Just off the bow, a fin breached the
surface; a pod of dolphins, making its way along beneath the ocean,
uncaring of NHEs or any of the rest of it.

Or are they? I mean, they’re as smart as we
are, right? They have names for each other, for fuck’s sake. Do
they ever strike deals with demons? Are there dolphin SPECTRs out
there, keeping the pods safe?

Curiosity.
“I do not know. I would suggest
discovering it for ourselves, but the sensation of drowning is
unpleasant, even if it would not kill us.”

Caleb shivered, thinking about the drakul on
the bottom of Lake Baikal. Bastard would be lucky if it could drown
instead of eternally suffocate inside some coffin of concrete and
steel. Jesus.

“There’s the fort,” John said softly from
beside them. Of course their more-than-human sight had spotted it a
while back, but Caleb just nodded.

The boats came in fast, lights off, relying
on the moonlight to guide them to this sand bar of Tiffany’s.
Something sparked in his vision. Etheric energy? As they drew
nearer, the air grew closer, oppressive. Like a storm about to
break.

Light sparked again—one of the sigils Kaniyar
had mentioned, he thought.

Fuck. “Something’s happening,” Caleb said.
“Forsyth has already started. I can feel it.”

John swore and turned to relay the news to
the other agents and operatives in their boat. Caleb kept his
attention directed to the front, to the low line of the fort just
above the waves. Far to the left, the lights of the Cooper River
Bridge shone through the darkness, and to the right, the occasional
light from houses flickered amidst the foliage of James Island.

God. The fort seemed far out in the bay, but
in reality it was too damned close. If Forsyth succeeded in
summoning the drakul and it snapped...what would happen to those
people driving over the bridge? Or hanging out on a Saturday night
on the deck? Or cruising around the bay on their fucking
sailboat?

Let alone the city itself. Screw Forsyth for
putting them in danger.

“
You did not used to be this concerned
with random mortals.”

Thanks for the newsflash. I’m trying to look
at the bigger picture here, okay?

The boats slowed, gliding forward like a
school of sharks in the dark. The glow of floodlights inside the
fort, combined with the moonlight, would show up bigger obstacles,
but most of the agents wore night vision goggles as well.

Caleb found himself holding his breath as
they came abreast of the fort. The sense of oppression
strengthened, became a throbbing pulse in the air, like something
about to tear. A jagged bit of memory suddenly unreeled behind his
eyes: the sensation of being snared. Of having flown free, one with
the storm, feeding and hunting on the wind, before the cessation of
movement. A tiger in a trap. An orca tangled in a drag net.

Caught.

Shit. Is that what’s happening to the drakul
Forsyth is summoning now?

“
I believe so.”

Sand scraped beneath the hull, and the whole
boat shuddered, bleeding speed as it ran aground on a sand bar
half-hidden by the tide. Caleb didn’t wait for it to come to a
complete stop before leaping over the side, landing in ankle-deep
water.

Even from here, he heard voices chanting.
Forsyth must have brought along more than one exorcist to help with
the summoning.

Caleb broke into a run, his boots slipping in
slime as the sand gave way to a low marsh. Sea grass whipped around
his legs. A low embankment of shell-studded earth separated him
from the firmer ground surrounding this face of the fort. He
scrambled over it just as the howls started.

Lycanthropes. Hunger cramped his gut and his
teeth burned, but he stayed focused. There would be plenty of
fighting, but they couldn’t afford to get bogged down outside the
fort.

A loud creak announced the opening of the
doors near the dock. Seconds later, the fleet shapes of fully
transformed werewolves appeared, lights flashing on the control
collars about their necks. He ignored them, put on a burst of speed
as he approached the lowest point in the wall. Here the brick gave
way to a short stretch of wood, offering a better grip for
grapples—and claws.

He leapt, a burst of TK and drakul-fueled
muscles carrying him easily to the top of the wall. Gunfire opened
behind him, agents with machine guns laying waste to the
lycanthropes trying to surround them. Grapples flew through the air
beside him, some catching on their own. Others he yanked toward him
with TK and secured in place manually.

A bullet whispered past his ear, and he
ducked, just as the first agents swarmed up the grappling lines.
The front rank opened suppressing fire, while others unrolled chain
ladders and secured them to the wall.

Caleb turned his attention to the fort
itself. Below, amidst the half-ruined brick casements and iron
cannons, across the open parade ground beyond, demons massed. Most
wore collars, like those at RD, but some remained human enough to
need no coercion beyond blind loyalty.

To his right loomed what must the Battery
Huger, a hulking black shape in the night. Behind it, on the grassy
rise flush with the tops of the sheer walls, waved a number of
flags: American, Confederate, others that had flown over the fort
at some point or other. A dozen men and women stood ranged around
them, chanting, and all around stretched the bottled demons, on the
grass and in steel racks. Hundreds if not thousands, brought to
this single place to fuel whatever would come next.

The air reeked of blood. Bodies lay scattered
everywhere atop the black bulk of the battery, possessed soldiers
coolly slitting throats even as the assault force came over the
wall.

Blood. It carried the energy of demons, the
life of mortals. And it clawed at the veil between the etheric and
mortal planes, so much death like a battering ram against a wall
already perilously thin.

Forsyth stood atop the battery, in the center
of the summoning circle. Etheric energy flashed around him, dark
and ugly, a bruise on reality.

“
We must end this.”

Agreed.

Caleb leapt off the wall and into the heaving
mass of demons below.

Gray lands amidst the onrushing demons,
flattening one beneath his boots, its narrow chest caving in from
impact. Others swarm him, therianthropes for the most part, collars
blinking with red lights about their necks, preventing them from
fleeing his presence. A few ghouls mixed in, along with stronger
types like incubi. Nothing he cannot overcome.

His claws snag the nearest lycanthrope, yank
it to him so he can sink his teeth into the great vein leading to
the arm, since the collar blocks its throat. Blood channels through
the grooves on the backs of his teeth, the ecstasy of feeding oddly
close to sexual pleasure. Other claws rip into his coat. He drops
the emptied husk and turns on the next in line.

Gunfire rips in staccato bursts from the
battery. Possessed soldiers, still able to think for themselves and
handle a firearm, line the stairs. But their aim is indiscriminate,
and demons die all around Gray, even as a stray round punches
through his shoulder. With so much etheric energy coursing through
him from the demons, the wound heals almost instantly.

Gray snarls. These thralls are fools. Do they
believe, once the other drakul has come, it will not feed on them?
What lies have they swallowed?

It does not matter. The agents and operatives
return fire from atop the wall, diverting attention from him. Other
agents drop to the ground behind him, and he senses John among
them. Good.

“We have to get through here!” John shouts.
The other mortals are shouting as well, but it is John’s voice to
which he is attuned.

“
Time to clear a path.”

He tosses aside the carcass of a ghoul and
lets Caleb surge to the fore. Caleb flings his arms out, punching
ahead of them with a wall of telekinetic energy. Agony flares
behind their eyes with the effort, but a dozen demons are hurled
before them, smashing into one another and into the bricks. Most of
the demons are injured, not killed, but even with their quick
healing it will open the way long enough for the mortal agents to
fight back.

Caleb drops back, letting Gray take over
again. Gray sprints through the cleared space, up and over the
final ruined wall separating them from the open parade ground
beyond. Here the demons are less packed in, but he is more exposed
to the gunmen on the Battery Huger.

His mortal allies don’t follow him into the
open, instead diverting to the left, through the tangle of ruined
walls, which offer some cover. A good decision, given their
vulnerability to bullets. Clearly a head-on assault against the
battery will not work.

He covers their movement, making a target of
himself, running as fast as he can across the open parade ground.
Mortal gunmen would only hit him through luck, but these are
possessed, quicker than any human. Bullets thud into him, the coat
stopping only some of them.

“
Ow! Go back, or find some other
way!”

He starts to fall back, toward the great
wooden doors, which now stand open onto the night beyond. But a
pale shape darts from behind one of the cannons on display. The
meat locker stench of a wendigo reaches out before it, its
emaciated body nothing but a caricature of a human form. It lunges
at him, jaws clattering, pale eyes filmed over with frost. The
electronic collar around its neck is sheathed in ice.

He doesn’t hesitate, only leaps on it, claws
sinking in. It screams, a high, thin sound like nothing human.
Momentum carries them back, and they roll over and over, into the
questionable shelter of the old casements. The brick vaults at
least block the aim of the gunmen on the upper reaches of the
battery.

Someone screams, a human sound.
“Shit,
it’s a kid! We have to do something!”

I am a bit occupied at the moment.

The wendigo bites at him with a mouth full of
razor teeth. He punches it hard, its jaw shattering under the blow.
And although the bone fragments begin to realign, the healing is
far more sluggish than it should be.

Forsyth has starved these creatures.

“
And you eat them.”

Yes. But there is no malice.
He is a
predator; he hunts because it is his nature. There is no wish to be
cruel. He has never chosen to make any of them suffer, even the
incubus who tried to take John from them. But Forsyth has tortured
these demons of his making.