Cary opened her eyes to find herself in a familiar grey stone hallway, pock-marked with the signs of age and the evidence of battle damage long since worn away. She held her hands on her shoulders as she stood observing the scene of her capture.
Guyarl, for all of his foolishness and betrayal, didn’t deserve to the end up in anyone’s service, even if he’d earned it on his own. But more than that, Cary pitied him. Guyarl lacked any special qualities to set him apart from the rest of Elelele’s captives or experiments. It made his position unsavory as the magician was prone toward abusing anything in his possession that he did not have an immediate use for.
At the thought of her master’s name, Cary’s body trembled. Beyond this circular room, blasted as it was by the explosion of the chest Cary had violated, lay an even more terrifying room: her master’s inner sanctum.
Cary loathed the thought of returning here, had no intention of letting Elelele find her. But she also had no choice but to advance, to force herself to enter his presence and abase herself before him for her failure.
Elelele’s mercies ran as shallow as a desert stream.
As she stepped into the shadows of the hallway, rather than face her master’s ire or the brunt of his physical punishments, Cary found herself in a more or less modern hallway. She’d been stationed in this place when Emilia had accidentally called upon her, summoned her out of the strange museum and into the mortal world and freedom.
Unlike the last time she’d been here, Cary was the sovereign of her own flesh. She could freely shift between her stone and flesh forms without effort. In fact, she found herself able to assume the long-forgotten Temptress form. So much time had elapsed since Elelele had permitted such an indulgence, Cary was not certain she could assume the form to begin with.
The stylish pink flesh and long murderous talons were unmistakable. She ran them down the hall, focusing on the blank wall she’d stared at for centuries. Even now, she could easily recall every sound she’d discovered in that hall, every face that passed by and every squalling child who’d run by over the years. As she finished giving the blank wall a set of features of its own, she paused at the sound of feet.
Treads too small for an adult informed her they belonged to a child. When one of the taller, older children most often in possession of permanent pens appeared, Cary’s back tightened and she growled. The pen in the boy’s hand quavered, as if he recognized the existential threat Cary posed to him. With a flick of her talons, she could scribble a line across the little vandal’s neck forever. He was a pudgy youth with ruddy cheeks, a grey t-shirt and black shorts.
His eyes trailed down Cary’s body and he licked his lips in appreciation. For a moment, the response stunned Cary. None of the former children had ever regarded her that way. But rather than let the child go, she raked her talons over the wall and stalked toward him. Before she could pounce upon her pretty the boy’s eyes flashed with inner golden light.
Shadows flickered about the boy, moving as if bidden by an invisible hand. Fear grasped Cary’s heart at the clear sign of her master’s magic. The body folded in on himself, leaving Elelele’s shredded, usual robes and faceless cowl in place. From pen to bared cat o’nine tails, the pen shifted into one object of Cary’s loathing from another. “You’ve been a naughty little tool, haven’t you, Cary o’mine?”
Her mouth opened, but Cary could not give her voice breath, could not force her tongue into the motions that would explain her actions or lead her master to excuse her behavior. She’d truly only wanted a vacation. She planned to return to him. The girl, yes, the girl might have been a suitable…
Cary couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, she locked Emilia’s name and face out of her mind, sequestered the information on her apprentice away from even her own brain. There, Elelele could not retrieve it with simple mental probing.
In a flash, he closed the distance between them, cupping her chin in his palm. “You are right of course, if you drive her from your mind, I won’t be able to see her without… extreme actions. But do not mistake me, I will drive my words through your skull and into your thoughts so thoroughly, you will not need to speak them to me, or even think them.” Cary’s answer gurgled out of her mouth the same way Joshua had stammered and burbled under her care. Elelele raised his barbed whip, which had shifted into a thin stiletto and raised it to her face. “This is your last chance, slave.”
Cary shook her head and eyed the descending dagger. She wished she could preserve Emilia from the man’s harsh treatment. What the girl had suffered at Cynthia’s hand would pale in companion to what Elelele was capable of. As the blade neared her cheek, it didn’t pierce her skin or violate the sanctity of her eye. Instead, it felt cool and almost wet as the dagger traced a line over Cary’s cheek. She’d shut her eyelids reflexively, so she then opened them to find the corpulent little boy tracing a symbol over Cary’s cheek.
With a roar, she slapped his hand away, gently enough to keep from shattering his delicate bones. Grabbing the pen with her other hand, she flipped it around so the blade pointed away from her thumb. She raised it one-handed and considered jamming the implement into the boy’s eye. He would remember such a permanent lesson the rest of his life. But her stance and the threat she offered the boy mirrored the throne her master had just used against her. Cary was not her master; she loathed him and his treatment of being less than him. Instead of blinding the boy, Cary snapped the pen in half and hurled it down the hallway.
Shaking her head in disgust, she lost sight of the boy as he sprinted away. When she looked back at him, the boy’s silhouette had changed to that of Oleg’s. He bore a series of chains about his ankles that smoked and steamed as he ran. From the manacles on his legs, the other end of the chain led into Oleg’s arms. His body shielded whatever he held from Cary. As curious as she was about Oleg’s burden, she wanted to find the poor Chuhaister and free him from the people who’d captured him. Leaving the old man behind had not been Cary’s first choice and she still regretted it.
Despite his burden, Oleg ran faster than Cary did, leaving her behind as he darted around a corner up ahead. Cary sped up as much as she could and turned the corner with her claws into the stone to help with momentum. Samantha and her coterie of sorcerers stood in a semi-circle in the next room, waiting for Cary.
She’d laid her foot on the back of Oleg’s head, as if he were the first of a series of steps Samantha intended to surmount.
“Stop!” Cary surprised herself by shouting at the woman.
As if Samantha had not seen her until then, she raised her eyes and they widened when they connected with Cary’s body. “Oh, this is too delicious. I’ve been looking for you little demoness. And here you are, bringing yourself to me like a delivery girl.” Samantha snapped at the hooded minions around her and they surged forward to grab Cary.
Just as Samantha had been impervious to Cary’s attacks, so too were her minions. Every swing of her talons, every kick she directed their way failed. Rather than injuring them, Cary caused considerable damage to herself. She tried to assume her stone form here, but she could feel the Prajna flowing through the walls, interfering with her personal magical power. Black veins pulsed over the stone, absorbing her magic and channeling to another fell purpose at Samantha’s command.
As Samantha’s minions beat Cary down, she struggled to crawl toward Samantha and enact her revenge. Oleg shivered under Samantha’s boot, his head not even trying to rise against her foot. A large acorn sat under his body, chained to his ankles. Cary had not been able to see it until now.
Nothing she did would free her from the endless pummeling Samantha’s crew delivered to Cary’s body. Her only choice was to face her beating and pray for the best. Then a voice behind her broke out, shouting down the minion’s attacks. They paused as Cary recognized Emilia’s voice.
“No, run. Don’t save me!” Cary couldn’t believe her own words. In any other circumstance, she would have begged for rescue. But with these particular magicians, Emilia was doomed. She would die or suffer capture just like Cary had, Emilia had no chance here.
And yet Emilia broke through their lines. Other voices, other breaths lent their strength to Emilia’s cause. Max and Betsy strode among the enemy magicians and laid several low, magic flashing from their arms as they did. The power they exhibited here was stronger than the meager talents Cary had detected in either of the two before.
With the pressure off of her own back, Cary could stand. Rather than tarry with Samantha’s underlings, Cary sought out the leader herself. But Samantha was nowhere to be found. Cursing her foul luck, Cary turned to watch Emilia dispatch the last of the enemy sorcerers. Their magic and their life force swirled out of their bodies as Emilia gestured to them. Two fell like cordwood, dried up and striking the floor with a hollow sound.
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“We need to run!” Emilia turned and Samantha appeared at her back.
Cary screamed, too late, and saw Samantha pull a dirk away from Emilia’s side. Blood fountained from the wound, splashing the evil sorceress with Emilia’s blood in the process. Max and Betsy ran forward to engage the sorceress, but rather than let them throw their lives away, Cary grabbed them and jerked them back. “You can’t help here! This bitch is mine!”
When Cary turned back around, Samantha and her dagger had vanished into the darkness of the hallway. All that remained was Emilia, laying on the stone floor and bleeding her life away. Betsy and Max flashed ahead of Cary, both of them dropping to cradle her head. To Cary’s sight, two pairs of hands glowed as the brother and sister tried to heal Emilia’s wounds. But the walls and their magical defiance blocked out Max and Betsy’s efforts.
Cary knew the way to heal her apprentice in a flash. No mortal magic could prevent this power, for Cary and Emilia’s bond reached through each other’s souls. Of course such power had dire consequences for Cary, but she ignored them as she dropped down to her knees and shoved Max aside.
Opening a vein beneath her pink flesh with a talon, Cary’s purplish blood welled to the surface. Betsy wept next to Emilia as she gasped for air. Max shouted imprecations to the very heavens, but Cary held her arm over Emilia’s open mouth.
“My heart to yours, I’ve marked you. My mind to yours, I’ve claimed you. Though the final bond is not tied between us, I surrender my soul to you.” Emilia choked and her body shook as a few dark drops of Cary’s blood fell into her lips. Winds howled about Cary, whipping her blond hair in every direction as bright magic poured from her wrist into Emilia’s mouth.
Then the whole scene froze around her. A gaunt figure with a white skull painted over his dark skin stepped through the wall. A top hat, crooked and with the Ace of Spades tucked into the band, sat atop the man’s bald head. From his left ear, an enamel figure of a black cat dangled. The way his head was cocked, Cary couldn’t see his right ear. He wore a black tuxedo, sprinkled with grey dust, and a char-blackened skull over his groin.
When he spoke, he did so with a nasal sound. “Mwen go zozo. Malé bon soso.”
Cary swayed to the tempo of his speech, unable to control herself. As she did, the figures around her shifted into mist and swirled away. Even the walls of the place swirled up into the skies like sacrificial smoke. All that remained was Emilia, with drops of purple against her cheek, laying on an endless field of white.
When the newcomer stopped speaking, Cary found her voice. “Papa Butch, I presume? I’d say it was a pleasure but, well…” Cary motioned over Emilia’s fallen body. “You can see why I might not think it so.”
“Do not worry, Malé cher. Your little servant is unharmed.”
“She’d not my servant.”
The skull-face’s right eye rose up and the man snickered at her through his nose. “Isn’t she?”
Rather than answer the old man’s rhetorical question, she said, “I didn’t bring any silver or sufficiently nasty rum to offer the Baron, my apologies.”
The old man snickered through his nose again. “Oh no, you brought a right damned disaster to my door. You’d need a truckload of whiskey or whores to make up for that.” He laughed at himself again, bending over at the waist as if he were the funniest goddamned idiot in the room. After a second, he stood back up and dusted off his coat. At once Cary took to coughing from the grave dust scent. “But maybe a kind Malé with a little human pet is payment enough?”
Cary stood in a flash and put herself between Emilia and Baron Ghede, Loa of the Dead. “You touch her old man and I will shove that skull up your ass…”
Rather than cow him, the old man stood to snickering again. “I’ve done a good deal more than touch her already. I’ve healed her and she’s awake, waiting for her little Malé.” He wheezed and shook his head. “Can’t see what a smart ol’ white girl with power sees in a thing like you. But I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You left her with Cyn…”
A cane appeared from behind the Loa’s back and smacked Cary right in the front of her mouth. “Do not speak the name of that one here. Nor should you speak the names of other Malé in my home.”
Cary stepped back and found Emilia gone from the all-white space. “Then you did know?”
“I’m of the fucking Loa, girl. Have some respect.”
“How could you leave her with…”
This time, the Baron raised his stick and Cary stuffed a sock in her mouth. After a second, Baron Ghede continued, “There is a good deal you do not know. Do you really think it chance that the poor girl summoned you into her bedroom? Do you think your drunken fete with the Chuhaister was an accident? A world moves wide and swift without your finger on the rim, mon chere Malé.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that even the Loa, no especially a Loa like myself, is sure to respect the dying wishes of a witch on her birthing bed.” He jammed the end of his cane into Cary’s chest. “Even if it means pain for a selfish little Malé like you, or a precious little innocent like Emilia bon.”
Cary changed the subject, “so what was all of this about?” She waved her hands around the white space. “Were you trying to learn my secrets or something? Find leverage on me?”
He snorted and shook his head. “Before I board another man’s hound, I want to know if she’s housebroken. Nothing more.”
“Are you going to tell my master where I am?”
That set the Loa into peels of hysterics. “Who do you think I am? I ain’t no fool, girl. I no more want the Master of Change and Lies at my door than I want his dog. Same as I do not intend to permit Emilia’s… former master to return. Not since I know who she really serves.”
“That’s… pretty smart actually.”
“See? I figured you were housebroken. Now, since you mentioned it, how do you intend to repay me for barging into my home and endangering those who share my blood?” The skull-faced man leaned down over her and brought his nose close to her face.
“I have nothing of value, save my knowledge and my strength. I can offer only information or service in the form of a single favor.” Before the Baron could accept, Cary barreled on, “a favor we would need to negotiate.”
The Baron snickered and nodded. “Then there is something you could teach my chief servant here. As well as his daughter. When he lets you awaken, I want you to teach him Abu Dallim’s Death Touch.”
“Wha…” before Cary could refuse, the Loa smacked her right in the middle of her forehead. The sensation of falling backwards ended right as she struck her body. Her arms and legs hopped up like they’d been jolted by the shock of the end of her flight.
Emilia and Betsy stood over her next to a gorgeous black-skinned woman who’s presence filled the room like heady incense. When Emilia noticed Cary’s eyes opening, she wrapped her arms around her and started weeping. “I thought you were gone. Butch said you might not wake up, if your heart was clouded or something.”
“Really? You missed me?” For a moment, Cary found herself all but alone with Emilia. She’d been honest about murdering those who threatened Emilia until then, but hadn’t realized how deep her concern for the girl ran.
After a moment of hugging, Emilia rose up and wiped tears from her eyes. “Yes, I did, silly. Betsy says you saved all of us. Me especially.”
Betsy winked at Cary and said, “Papa Butch treated Max. He’s going to be fine, but he needs more time to recover.”
“What about Joshua?” Cary sat up to find herself in a small room with white sheets covering the walls. She was naked, except for a thin drape that fell from her body as she rose.
The dark-skinned woman, Regina based on Emilia’s memories, cleared her throat and said, “dad had him taken to the holding shed until we decided what to do with him. He also said that Joshua had his own meeting with the Loa. Like you.”
Cary cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders. The gods the mortals worshiped made her muscles tense in fear. Then she remembered her obligation to the Baron. “There’s something I need to teach you and your father, Regina. As soon as possible.”
Regina nodded and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you?”
“Cary.” Warmth rose to her skin as Regina gave Cary an appreciative once-over. As with Emilia, Cary could sense the other woman’s attraction. Unlike Emilia, Cary could also sense the other woman had experience even Cary lacked.
“Huh. Never met a demon before.” She winked at Cary with a lingering gaze toward her chest. “Welcome to the Voodoo Garden. I’ll go get my dad. Your clothes are under the bed.”
Regina brushed by a white sheet and opened the exterior door. Cary blinked at the darkness outside. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough for Butch to treat Max and for Em to wake up.” Betsy shrugged. “About five hours?”
Cary rose and donned her clothing. Neither Betsy nor Emilia deigned to leave the room during the process and Cary didn’t consider her modesty important enough to complain. Besides, she imagined the two women felt safer with her in the room than otherwise. Cary felt a margin safer with Emilia next to her. After the vision the Baron had shared, there were things Cary wanted to teach Emilia and Betsy anyway. Now was as good a time as any.
“Hold the image in your heads.” The sheets helped, in a strange way. “Imagine there is a sheet wrapped around your body. It covers you like a sock.”
Betsy snickered. “Like a body sock.”
“Sure.” Cary didn’t bother to scope out Emilia’s memories for the concept. Her ready agreement sent both Emilia and Betsy into a small laughing fit. She put her hands on her hips and frowned at both of them until they settled. “Now imagine the sock expanding outward until it’s just beyond the reach of your outstretched hands. Push it away if you have to.”
“What is this supposed to do?” Emilia asked her question as Betsy gasped and opened her eyes.
Right at three feet from Betsy, overlapping Emilia and Cary in the cramped room, a golden field of light had risen. It looked like a crystalline champaign flute, only with the bottom dipping low enough that none of them could see it beneath the ground.
“Holy shit!” Betsy’s outburst shattered the field of light into tiny shards that disintegrated into the air. “That was it.”
Cary nodded, restraining herself from putting her finger to her lips. The golden glow of Betsy’s power confirmed what Cary had seen in the Baron’s vision: Betsy was far stronger than Cary originally guessed. From what Cary had seen, she didn’t know what talent or talents the girl possessed, aside from a strong affinity to aura magic.
“You teaching these kids magic in my medicine shed?” Papa Butch pushed the door to the shed open with those words and didn’t wait for an invitation. “Loa said you owed me something special.”