In Graves Below Page 10

  He needed a destination. Think, he ordered himself, closing his eyes. Riya had said she felt his location, so he had to believe that would work for him, if he could get close enough. He snapped his eyes open and looked at his grandfather. “How do I find Riya in dreamwalk? I told her to go there if she was ever in trouble.”

  “From the heart,” said Black Fox. “Every dreamwalker sees it differently, but it comes from the heart.”

  Idrián wasn’t practiced at plunging into dreamwalk while at the wheel of his truck, but desperation made it one of the fastest entries he’d ever done. The familiar red earth and opalescent skies soothed him, but his worry skyrocketed. He dropped to one knee and bent down to put his hands on the dry dirt to ground himself and his runaway emotions. He focused on memories of Riya, remembering how it felt when they touched in dreamwalk, how it energized every cell in his dreamwalk body and filled his hollow chest with warmth. The ground warmed beneath his left hand, and he saw a skipping line of energy begin to appear, like the pattern a sidewinder snake made in the desert sand. He followed with top dreamwalk speed as it made a path through the landscape. It was headed toward the rocks where they’d first met and defeated the fear-eater demon.

  To his overwhelming relief, she was sitting in the center of the half ring made by the rocks, her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her bent knee. He slowed to normal speed and let the world stabilize.

  “Riya,” he said softly, walking toward her.

  She looked up and smiled tiredly. “Hey there, handsome. I don’t think I can stay here much longer.”

  He dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms. Immediately, he felt the drain, dragging at him through their connection. He pulled energy from the earth and funneled it to her.

  She snuggled into him. “That feels good.”

  “I can’t do it for long. Your body wants you back. What happened after I left?”

  “Spencer Emerson came in, all alone, and asked everyone to come to the stage. When we did, he spoke a word of power to freeze us all, then cast a spell to make us all sleep. The bastard picked me up like a sack of rice and carried me out over his shoulder. I wasn’t fully under, but his touch made me so sick I could barely breathe or keep my shields up. As soon as he got me into the back seat of his big SUV, I remembered what you said, that you’d find me in dreamwalk, so I opened the door and ran.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I ended up here.”

  He kissed her head and tightened his arms around her. “Did Emerson say anything?”

  She snorted. “You mean something helpful, like where he was taking me, or why?” She rested her head against his shoulder. “No. But remember what Moth Dust said, about the soul-eater demon ‘riding its steed’ to open the gate? I think Emerson is the demon’s meat puppet.” She sounded exhausted. “I really hate being part of a prophecy.”

  He smiled. “They do tend to be hard on the people involved.” The drain grew stronger, and she started to fade. He struggled to hang on to her a moment longer. “I’m coming for you, Riya.”

  “I’ll try to open a…” Her body dissolved into nothingness, leaving his arms empty and his heart aching. He should have protected her better.

  He drew as much more earth energy as he could stand and shot up into the sky…

  …and slammed back into his body, gasping for air, pins and needles dancing on his skin. He took several more deep breaths to settle the extra earth energy into his bones and joints, making them ache.

  The clock on his dash said he’d been gone less than twenty minutes, the fastest dreamwalk he’d ever done, but after seeing Riya’s haggard look, even that felt too long. The truck cab was empty. Black Fox must be doing something he thought was important.

  Hoping he was doing the right thing, Idrián pulled Riya’s sweater out of her bag, then got out of the truck and crossed to the tiny bit of turf that surrounded a small tree. He sank to one knee to get more contact with the soil, then focused on the same connection to Riya he’d made in dreamwalk and tried to feel it through the earth. The deep vibration of the city thrummed in his veins. He concentrated on her exotic scent, the taste of her on his lips, the moisture of her breath on his skin as she’d slept in his arms. He sent a tiny thread of magic into the ground and willed it to find Riya. It snaked out slowly, headed southwest, then faded. He poured more magic into it, but it didn’t go much farther.

  Frustrated, he balled up Riya’s sweater and held it to his chest, then concentrated once more on the remembered essence of her. Nothing.

  Every second of delay pounded on his conscience. She’d been taken because of his arrogance. He should have told her about the danger. He should have protected her. He should have told her he was falling for her.

  The realization stunned him. It was too fast. It wasn’t safe. He needed more time. And none of those arguments changed the fact that he’d already given her a piece of his heart and didn’t want it back.

  His grandfather’s instructions came back to him. He took a deep breath, sent his magic out again, and poured his feelings for her into it.

  The thread shot out like a laser, southwest, and terminated nine miles southwest of where he knelt. Memorizing the feel of it through the earth, he hurried back to his truck and used his phone’s map to plot the quickest route to get there. He took a moment to cast a quick spell to set off the fire alarms in the theater building, so someone would find and help the stricken dancers. It was the only thing he could do for them for now.

  He roared out of the parking lot, engaging the truck’s magical systems to hide it from traffic cameras and make other drivers choose to get out of his way without knowing why they did it.

  Apparently Emerson, or the demon that rode him, liked decrepit warehouses and railroad tracks. Idrián drove past the building that his magic said was his target and parked on the far side of a rusted van that made his truck look pristine by comparison. A fast, northbound train thundered by on the tracks to the west of the row of warehouses.

  Black Fox appeared just as Idrián opened the glove box to get a multi-tool with a few extra features.

  “I asked the ancestors for advice. They don’t agree on anything except that you must keep your connection to the earth and bring your woman to the ranch.” Black Fox frowned. “I can’t tell you what you’ll find in the warehouse. It’s warded against spirits.”

  “How many doors?”

  Black Fox vanished, but returned quickly. “Six, counting the three freight bays. The door at the south end has footprints leading to it.”

  Idrián nodded his thanks. Impulsively, he grabbed Riya’s sweater and tied its arms around his waist. If… no, when he found Riya, she might appreciate the warmth. He braided his hair quickly, mumbling a small spell into it, leaving it one word short so he could trigger it if he needed it.

  Idrián got out of the truck with his cane. He breathed fog on the side mirror and drew a quick image, and the truck faded from view.

  “How will you get in?” asked Black Fox.

  “Riya said she’d try to open a door for me. If not, I’ll think of something.” He started a fast walk toward the south door. “Coming?”

  Black Fox glided beside Idrián. “Don’t get us killed.”

  “You’re already dead,” Idrián pointed out.

  “Smartass,” growled Black Fox. “There are worse things than death.”

  Chapter 12

  Riya was wet and cold, owing to the mildewed blanket on the chilly concrete floor Emerson had left her on, trussed painfully with her arms behind her bound with duct tape, and tied to her ankles with more duct tape. The center of the dark warehouse was lit by standing banks of work lights, each unit plugged into a car battery, with a spell to convert the power. The warehouse smelled like a dust, mold, and ancient grain, but that was overwhelmed by the stench of death magic and demons. Plural.

  Now that she was looking, she could see the demon wearing Spencer Emerson’s skin, especially since it wasn’t trying to hide its inhum
an occupancy like it had in Denise’s office. It stank of human sweat because it had been hard at work, pouring magic into the symbols it was painting on the floor in six concentric circles around Riya. The expensive tailored suit coat and pants it was wearing were ruined with paint smears. Apparently, soul-eater demons were rock stars that trashed their metaphysical hotel rooms.

  The other demon was about the size of a German shepherd, but pallid pink, with clawed appendages, multiple eyes, and ripping teeth as big as her forearm that made no sense to her human sensibilities. It sat just beyond the edge of the blanket and glared evilly at her. Or maybe it just had a resting evil face.

  “You’re quiet,” said Emerson, as he dipped his paintbrush into the tube of red acrylic paint. Ever since he’d pulled her back to the real world using a spell that would have awakened Rip van Winkle, he’d been chatting with her like they were at a party.

  She rolled her eyes. If he wanted conversation, he shouldn’t have put duct tape over her mouth. Maybe it was just as well, though, because she doubted she could have suppressed her snarky comments. Her shoulders ached, and her fingers felt icy cold from lack of circulation. She wished she knew what time it was.

  Another train, this one northbound, rattled the warehouse walls and vibrated the concrete floor.

  The smaller demon made a slurping sound. “Humans, soft.” It gnashed its teeth, which sounded like breaking glass. “Hungry, me.”

  Riya wished she had something to block the fetid odor of its breath. It knew better than to come closer. When she’d first come to, the demon, whose demonic name sounded like Yellow Snow, tried to sneak in and take a bite out of the meaty part of her calf when Emerson wasn’t looking. She’d kicked at it with her bound feet, but it was the static electricity shock that sent him skidding ten feet along the floor, and smeared some of Emerson’s symbols in the process.

  Emerson had kicked it until it was screaming and bloody, or at least she assumed the black, oozy fluid was blood, and threatened it with true death if it touched her or the symbols again. Interestingly, Emerson hadn’t commented on the magic spell she’d forgotten was still active, the one that had kept Jonathan St. Peters from bothering her. Or maybe her little spell was beneath the demon’s notice.

  “St. Peters was whimpering by now.” Emerson stood and stepped back to survey his handiwork. “It would have been much easier if he could have finished the dance. His was quite the tasty little corrupt soul. Yours isn’t.”

  From Emerson’s running conversation, she’d gathered he’d lured St. Peters to the other warehouse the night before, nibbled on the rotted parts of his soul, taught him the movements, then convinced him to dance while Emerson cast the gate spell. Unfortunately, St. Peters had neither the talent nor remaining life energy to keep the gate open, and only Yellow Snow had made it through. St. Peters was already near death when Yellow Snow had chewed through St. Peters’ flesh before Emerson could stop it. Apparently, manifesting bodies in the human world sent juvenile soul-eater demons into an uncontrollable frenzy until they got used to the sensation overload.

  Emerson daintily stepped through the rows of symbols and crouched down in front of her. Without warning, he ripped the duct tape off her face. She gasped involuntarily with the pain, and her eyes watered.

  “Are you a better dancer than St. Peters?”

  She didn’t say a word. Her only hope was delaying things as long as possible, to give Idrián time to find her.

  The demon that was occupying Emerson made the man’s mouth smile. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll make you a ruler.” He made a complicated gesture with his fingers, and Riya felt a wave of seductive persuasion wash over her like a warm sea as she glimpsed a brief illusion of her wearing a fairy-tale crown, looking down from a balcony over an adoring crowd.

  Riya couldn’t help but snort. She’d always looked stupid in princess dresses. “I’m guessing St. Peters fell for that bullshit?”

  Emerson blinked, then shook like he was having an epileptic seizure, dropping to his knees. It took her a moment to realize the demon was laughing. “Yes, he did. Hook, line, and sinker.”

  The demon Yellow Snow drooled. “Eat now!”

  Without looking, Emerson grabbed Yellow Snow’s barbed head and flung it up and over the circle of symbols into the darkness. It landed with a crunch and a howl.

  Emerson cocked his head to one side. “You see the real me, don’t you?”

  Riya knew the demon meant itself, not the human fleshy shell it operated. She wondered who the real man had been. He was probably long gone. “Yes, I see you. Sort of.” Best not let it wonder what else she could do. “I don’t know why, though. I’ve never been psychic or anything, except for seeing the odd ghost.”

  Emerson crossed his arms. “Dance for me, and I’ll let you live.”

  “Liar.” Riya sneered just as disdainfully as she had when calling St. Peters on his theft.

  Emerson lifted his right hand. “I will sign an oath in blood.” His voice sounded deep and sincere, but it didn’t match the eyes. Whatever demon was wearing Emerson’s skin wasn’t doing as well at keeping up the human façade.

  She remembered Idrián describing soul-eater demons as oath breakers and shook her head. “Oaths aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. I learned that lesson cosigning a loan for my cousin.”

  Emerson slapped her, hard, slamming her head into the hard concrete, then grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “I can make you immortal and bend you like a pretzel. You’ll have pain forever. You’ll never walk again, much less dance.”

  Her eyes filled with involuntary tears, her nose felt runny. Being crippled was her secret fear, the threat her insane, rabidly anti-human uncle used to torment her with when her mother wasn’t around. It had driven her to figure out how help the wounded and the maimed learn to move again, because she was afraid she’d be the one with the mangled legs or the twisted spine. She shivered. But if she gave into her fear, hundreds would die. Courageous, strong, warm-hearted Idrián, who’d come back from a devastating loss, would die. After all he’d been through, he deserved life. She couldn’t let him down.

  Riya swallowed hard and looked up into the eyes of hell. “Do it.”

  Emerson stared at her a long moment, then curled his lip and pushed her chin away. He wiped his fingers on his stained pants.

  Relief flooded her. For whatever reason, Emerson’s demon needed her cooperation. All she could think of to do was play for time. “Why do you need me to dance?”

  Emerson sat back on his heels. Slowly, the demon’s countenance overlaid Emerson’s. It was rounded, almost doll-like, with eyes, nose, and mouth in a human configuration. “I want to go home.”

  The tiniest bit of doubt began to nibble at her resolve. What if the soul-eater demon really did want to go back to its own dimension?

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Underneath her, through the concrete floor under the thin blanket, she felt a tiny, magical vibration. The south warehouse door opened, the one she’d spent all her waking minutes and spare small magic keying to open for Idrián without disturbing the demon’s wards. She coughed to hide any hope that might be flaring in her eyes.

  “Derorril. Onatec …” The demon trailed off and sniffed the air once, then again. “Yellow Snow, bring me the spirit that is stupid enough to invade my territory. Do not eat it yet.” The little demon scrabbled fast, and flew upward on wet-looking wings into the darkness.

  The demon retreated into the Emerson shell. “Is someone looking for you?”

  Riya gave him a sour look. “Like you’d believe me, no matter what I said.”

  Emerson frowned. “You’re annoying. More than most.” A slower southbound train rattled the walls of the warehouse. Underneath its vibration, she felt the south door close again. She needed to keep Emerson busy.

  She made a rude noise. “It was your stupid question. If I said yes, the police are coming, you’
d think I was lying, and if I said no, you’d still think I was lying.” She sighed in exaggerated exasperation. “You obviously haven’t been here that long, or you’d have figured out by now how to ask a decent question. Now, if you’d asked—”

  A bright flash and an earsplitting howling rose from the east side of the warehouse. Yellow Snow flew into view and crash-landed at the southern edge of the circle of symbols. Its right wing was ruined by a huge, jagged burn hole, like it had been struck by lightning. Black blood pooled on the floor, and it crooned its agony.

  “Heal yourself,” ordered Emerson. Yellow Snow crooned louder and rocked itself.

  “Must I do everything around here?” Emerson’s body shook as Derorril emerged as a greasy black cloud, then formed into a taller, long-tailed, deep pink insect-like creature with an incongruously cherubic but insectoid, face. It shook itself and stood up straight and stretched, as if it had been stuck in a cheap seat for a transcontinental flight. The body was semi-transparent, sort of like a hologram instead of the real thing. The demon peered into the darkness toward the east, then unfurled huge wings and launched into the air. Yellow Snow quieted down, but still rocked itself.

  Riya expected Emerson’s body to fall, now that it was unoccupied, but instead, it continued to shake. It also heaved like a cat with a fur ball. She barely squirmed herself and her blanket away before he leaned forward and spit up a dark red slimy mass on the concrete, just inside the center ring of symbols. She carefully avoided looking at it, but she couldn’t avoid the smell of sickness and death. Her stomach heaved in revulsion.

  He sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat, smearing yellow paint across his cheek as he did so. He finally noticed her.

  “Who are you?” He looked blearily around. “Where are we?”

  “In a warehouse near railroad tracks, maybe near South Santa Fe.”

  His eyes widened. “We’re in New Mexico?”