Kitty in the Underworld kn-12 Page 15

  “Show me our enemy, show me the future!”

  She dug the point of the dagger into the mouse and wrenched, splitting open the tiny body. Expertly, as if she had done this before, or often, she twisted the knife again, digging out a brick-red chunk of flesh the size and shape of a peanut. Its heart. The mouse squealed, a brief and shockingly loud sound. There was surprisingly little blood.

  She dropped the mouse and ate its heart. Still hot. Zora chewed twice and swallowed. The body of the mouse was still twitching.

  I stared, too shocked to react. The torches crackled and sparked. Zora’s eyes were closed, and she clasped the dagger before her, point down. A few drops of blood dripped onto the paper.

  By then, we were all holding our breath. I thought I heard a voice, a murky sound to go with the smoke and shadows. A soft, mocking chuckle. It didn’t come from any of us. Zora’s chants had spoken of defeating our enemy. But someone was laughing at us.

  I caught Enkidu’s gaze, tried to ask the question—who?—but he gave his head a small shake. “Zora—” I growled at the magician, questioning.

  Her eyes opened, she looked up, jumped to her feet, and held out the blood-smeared dagger as if she might actually use it to defend herself. But there was nothing to attack, and even the laughter faded until I thought I’d imagined it.

  Her tunic flapping around her legs, she turned back to her place on the circle and raised her arms. Shouting, she repeated chants from the ritual with a tone of defiance. More smiting of our enemy, along with words of banishing.

  The only way I knew it was over was when she sat heavily, dropping the knife and putting her head in her hands. The smoke remained, drifting upward, and I continued to see patterns, whorls and spirals reflecting the shapes drawn on the floor. The torches still burned, and the stinging smoke and weight of expectation remained. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  We stood around the circle, blinking at each other.

  “What happened?” I said finally, breaking the quiet with the suddenness of shattering glass. Felt stupid doing it, but somebody had to say something. “Something happened, right?” I couldn’t be sure anymore. Maybe I was still tranquilized and dreaming all this. Except I didn’t think my imagination was that good. My nose flared, picking up the scent of fresh blood. The mouse carcass, little more than bits of flesh and mangled fur, still lay in the middle of the circle. The smell made me oddly hungry.

  “What did you learn?” Enkidu asked. Demanded.

  Zora looked exhausted. She held her hands, stained with blood and soot, like they were newly discovered treasure. Like she was surprised this had worked, heaven help us.

  “Zoroaster?” Kumarbis prompted, and at this she looked up, nodded. She crept to the center of the circle and retrieved the piece of paper, read the bloody pattern smeared on it, and nodded.

  I expected a fortune-teller’s vague pronouncement. A brooding man seeks your destruction, great changes loom in your future, your lucky numbers are two and twelve, and so on, yadda, whatever.

  Zora spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone. “He’s in Split, Croatia, in the old town, the ruins of Diocletian’s Palace. Very near his own origin. A place of healing and power for him. He thinks it’s a place of safety, so his defenses are few. This is very good for us.”

  “How the hell—” I clamped my teeth shut before I could finish the outburst. Zora knew, the ritual worked, they were right.

  Kumarbis laughed, the low victorious chuckle of a supervillain, though he probably didn’t hear it that way. “We have him. Finally, we can stop him. Thank you, thank you all.” The vampire’s eyes were half lidded, his lips curling back, showing fang. He might have become emperor of everything, as happy as he looked.

  If Zora could use magic to find Roman, then maybe she really could stop him by zapping him with magic from five thousand miles away …

  We have to get out of here. This is crazy. Kumarbis might have been right, but Wolf still didn’t trust him. He knows where we are, he knows what we’re doing.

  Zora had opened a door, and the door allowed access both ways. If we’d found Roman, he could just as easily find us. The urge to flee became fierce. Antony hadn’t been dumb, he hadn’t been reckless. He wouldn’t have confronted Roman if he hadn’t thought he had a good chance against him. And he’d lost. What chance did we have?

  The others didn’t seem worried. They began to march out of the ritual space and back to the antechamber. Zora moved like a queen in her palace, her chin up, her tunic flowing around her, gold ornaments glinting in torchlight, as if they sparkled with their own light. Were they really gold, were they really ancient, or were they some cheap knockoff posing as ancient sacred artifacts? And did it matter, if they really were magic? The questions made me tired.

  She retrieved the coin from the ritual space, returned it to Kumarbis, and processed with him back to the antechamber. The high priest and his acolyte, so imperious and serene, so sure of themselves. He was righteous, she was proud to follow him. We, the pack of lycanthropes, followed.

  Back in the main chamber, Kumarbis turned and bowed to us all. “Dawn approaches. I must leave you. Tonight, our final ritual commences. We are close, so close. Thank you, all of you, for your help, your power, your blessing. Zoroaster. Sakhmet. Enkidu. Regina Luporum.” He bowed again, eyes closed, head bent low. The show of gratitude was profound, genuine.

  It almost made staying mad at him hard. Almost. He believed. He really, really believed.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, my words dropping like a china plate on a tile floor, breaking the mood, causing even me to shiver. I had to get out my thoughts, no matter how awkwardly. “You’re right. I see that now. You’re right, you really can do what you say you can do. I believe you.” Saying it felt like I was giving over part of myself, carving out a piece of my own flesh. Admitting they were right about me. “But you’re missing something.”

  “We’ve overlooked nothing,” Zora insisted.

  “Zora,” I said. Wincing, I revised the thought. “Zoroaster. The one who speaks for Zoroaster.” I was absolutely no good at this ritual thing. Regina Luporum, hah, not even. “You opened a door, you saw Dux Bellorum—but doors open both ways. He can find us just like we’ve found him. He’s in Split right now laughing at us.” I flashed on the memory of my first day here, grabbing Sakhmet’s hand through the slot in the door, desperately holding on in our tug-of-war. Roman could do that to us.

  But everyone looked at her. Even Kumarbis looked at her, waiting for her response.

  Her expression wrenched itself into a kind of fury, puckered, glaring. “We’re safe here. I’ve protected this place, I’ve cast many spells, I’ve built many shields. No one can find us, no one can harm us. We’re safe!” She spit the words, and her face flushed. In her robes and finery, she looked like she was playacting. I couldn’t laugh, though. I felt a little sorry for her.

  Kumarbis looked back at me. “You see? We are safe. Tomorrow, we can strike.”

  “Antony!” I said, making his name an exclamation. A call to arms, however incomprehensible. But I had gotten their attention. “My friend Antony. He was Master of Barcelona, but he was one of us—one of my allies in the fight against the Long Game. Like Ned, Alette, Anastasia, Marid … Rick.” And what would they say if they could see me now? God, I could really use some help here … “Antony knew that Roman was in Split, and he went there to kill him. He thought he could kill him. He failed. He was destroyed. You can open a door to try to kill him, but you’ll be going in blind. He will defend himself.”

  “And so will we,” Kumarbis said, just like that.

  “Before he died, Antony said Roman was in Split looking for something, an artifact or a spell or something, called the Hand of Hercules. Maybe it’s a weapon, maybe it’s something else, I don’t know. You say you know Roman better than anyone—do you know what it is? Hand of Hercules, the … the Manus Herculei—”

  Kumarbis’s eyes widened in a show of recognition
.

  “You know!” I pressed. “You know what he’s looking for, you know what it does.”

  He might not have realized he was speaking. “It was what caused our falling-out. It was why we parted ways. He sought a different kind of magic than I did. Not Hercules. Herculaneum. He was going to Herculaneum, looking for … something.” His gaze went distant, dredging up two-thousand-year-old memories. He looked like a lost old man, nothing more than that.

  And where the fuck was Herculaneum? It was all I could do to keep from screaming at Kumarbis, What? What was it?

  I kept going, the tension pouring out in words. “The next ritual, the second half tomorrow night—what’s going to happen, exactly? You know Roman, you know what he’s capable of, exactly how powerful he is—so how are you going to destroy him?”

  The staring at me went on for another minute. I had gone so thoroughly off script they didn’t know what to do with me. It was as if I’d done something unseemly at a dinner party and they couldn’t look away. Finally Zora turned to Kumarbis—waiting for permission. Only when the vampire nodded did she turn to me and speak.

  “The ceremony will gather the power to destroy Dux Bellorum, then open a door so the power will reach him. You will see it when it happens. You will understand.” Her eyes were round; her raised hands, explaining in vague gestures, trembled. She was on the edge of breaking. Of insanity. Maybe her power demanded insanity.

  “And when Roman hits back?”

  Sakhmet put her hand on my arm, squeezed my wrist. I jerked away, bared my teeth. We were cornered. Get out, now. Too late for that.

  “Regina, please,” Sakhmet said.

  “Please what?” I shot back. Please stop, please help, please wait? Please be patient, this could all still work out. Wolf didn’t think so.

  She looked at me, her golden gaze narrowed. Like a cat on the hunt. “Please have faith. You’ve seen what we can do.”

  Enkidu added, “We represent five different aspects of power. By uniting our wills, our strength, we can overcome Dux Bellorum’s defenses. We’ve already located him, we can strike while he is weak, while he doesn’t know who or where we are. The next ritual will direct our united force to him, and destroy him magically.”

  I said, “There are others … he’s got magicians working for him, vampires and lycanthropes, just like us. And did I tell you about the demon? She’s working for the same person, thing, whatever, that Roman is. That’s what I’m trying to say—what if we go through all this and it still isn’t over?”

  Zora glared at me, furious. I was almost taken aback. “You’re wrong! You’re an animal, you do not understand!”

  We could tear out her throat … I put my hands on my temples, squeezed. Had to keep it together.

  “Regina,” Kumarbis said. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. You believe, you would not feel so strongly if you did not. But you must trust that this, our ritual, our plan, will work. Please.”

  That was what all this was about, after all. It wasn’t enough to have me here, I had to be a willing—enthusiastic—participant. And if I didn’t believe, and the ritual failed, they could point the finger at me, it would be my fault. I had no way to win this.

  What could I do? What did I believe in, really?

  I nodded, because what else could I do? Even though this wasn’t faith, in the end. It was fanaticism. “But you—we have to be ready to defend ourselves. Roman isn’t going to take this quietly.”

  The vampire—he gazed at me, a smile shifting the deep lines in his face, like a cracked leather mask coming to life.

  “The very fact that you question us, that you urge us to such vigilance, proves to me that you are Regina Luporum. You are queen of the wolves, and we are fortunate to have you with us. Your guidance will see us through, I have no doubt.”

  My arguments fell silent. What could I possibly say after that?

  Before I could flip out any more than I already had, Kumarbis gathered his dignity again, straightening, gazing on us all with the beatific regard of a priest. “I must think on this, and dawn approaches. I suggest you all rest for the day, as I will. Good night, my dear friends.” He departed the chamber for his own quarters, to sleep out the day.

  “I will attend him,” Zora said, and followed. She was welcome to it.

  That left the three of us, regarding each other as if we’d just survived a tornado. We’d been through something, we weren’t sure what, and we couldn’t quite believe we’d survived. And this was just the beginning.

  I let out a snarl and started pacing, that same track, back and forth along the far wall of the antechamber.

  “He’s right,” Sakhmet said in her gentle, diplomatic voice. “We should rest.”

  Finally, I pointed down the tunnel after Kumarbis and Zora. “Are they crazy? Do they really think they can just sneak up on a guy like Roman without any consequences? Who do they think they are?”

  Enkidu sighed and said, “She is the avatar of Zoroaster, and he is … Kumarbis.”

  Because that made so much sense. About as much sense as a werewolf named Kitty. This wasn’t about sense, it was about gut instinct and magic, and as much as I wanted to go after Roman and rip out his undead heart myself, this didn’t feel right. This felt like a trap. I stopped pacing and laced my fingers in my hair, which had become hopelessly tangled and greasy. “Right, right, like you’re the avatar of Enkidu and you’re the avatar of Sakhmet. And why you all, and not the avatars of … of Shiva or Hermes Trismegistus? How do you know the real Sakhmet isn’t running around somewhere—”

  “Because it’s a story,” Enkidu said, identifying the fundamental problem with the whole enterprise. If you believed hard enough, worked hard enough, could you make the stories real by force of will? Were the ancient gods and myths only metaphors, or was there something more behind them? Could they have it both ways? According to the story, Enkidu and Gilgamesh battled giant scorpions in the cedar forest, and what about any of that made sense?

  But what if they really had?

  My smile felt bitter, exhausted. “Except there’s really a Sun Wukong and Xiwangmu, because I’ve met them. And maybe they’re just really powerful people who called themselves gods and convinced everyone else that they were right. But in their case I’m pretty sure the stories are about them, not the other way around. They didn’t borrow their identities from the stories. Kumarbis is cobbling together whatever he can because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s making it up as he goes along, and Zora’s making it work because it gives her power. Where did Kumarbis find her?”

  “She was telling fortunes in Istanbul,” Sakhmet said. “She had a reputation—she was real, she was the fortune-teller the creatures of magic went to for help. That was how Kumarbis found her and recruited her. Named her the avatar of Zoroaster. We don’t know where she’s from. We think she’s American, but how she came to be in the Middle East, practicing such powerful magic, we’re not sure.”

  Another story I’d love to get on the show. I wondered what I’d have to do to make that happen. Pay with more blood, probably.

  “What does Kumarbis expect is going to happen?” I asked.

  Sakhmet said, “The final ritual will destroy Gaius Albinus, Dux Bellorum.”

  The first ritual had worked—I knew it had worked. Why shouldn’t the second? And what would be the cost?

  Enkidu said, “You say you have met gods. Real gods, not avatars. Chinese, yes? The Monkey King, the Queen Mother of the West.”

  “You know some mythology.”

  “I’ve read a few books,” he said, with a crooked half smile. The closest thing to a smile I’d seen on him. “Tell me, how is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Right place at the right time. Or wrong place, depending on how you look at it. But they had power. I believed.” I’d come to believe so much over the last few years, since doing the show and meeting people like Kumarbis. But I couldn’t believe him. Sun Wukong had inspired
me. This … this was something else entirely.

  Enkidu’s gaze turned downcast, somber. “We’ve lost so much of the power that we had in ancient days.”

  Sakhmet added, “Once, long ago, our kind were worshipped as gods. We were revered.”

  “If we still had some of that power,” Enkidu said, “Dux Bellorum would not be as strong as he is.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?” I asked. “To get back the power of the gods?”

  They didn’t answer. They must have known what it sounded like from the outside. But still, they kept on, because … because what else could they do? If they had any hope that these rituals could defeat Roman, or at least give them the power to defeat Roman, they had to stay. That, I understood.

  “You can’t do what Zora’s doing—you can’t work that kind of magic that pokes and prods at someone without drawing attention. Scrying, searching—it works both ways. We might have learned something about Roman, but you can bet he learned something about us. If we know where he is, he might also have discovered where we are and what we’re doing, and if he doesn’t, he at least knows that we’re looking for him. If he thinks we’re a threat, he’ll do something about it. He’s been studying magic for two thousand years, and I don’t care if Zora really is channeling Zoroaster, she’s not as powerful as he is.”

  “We’re safe here,” Sakhmet said, soothing. “Zora’s put many protections over this place. We’re underground, hidden—”

  “Any shield can be broken with enough time and effort,” I said.

  “What do you know about magic?” Enkidu shot back.

  “Nothing,” I said, a mad grin on my lips. “But I know some great magicians.”

  Sakhmet gathered calm to herself, folding her hands before her, closing her eyes. “We will be watchful. I will speak with Zora about it.”

  “Will she listen to you?” Enkidu said.

  “I’ll speak gently.” The opposite of me, in other words. Giving me a sidelong look, she bowed her head to us and left through the tunnel to find the magician.