Brimstone Read online

  “Did you never tell them, Juliana?” I threw it across the circle, keeping her attention on me. “You’re a lawyer. Wouldn’t lack of full disclosure invalidate the contract?”

  “What contract?” demanded Kirby. Her eyes were red and swollen, and they widened as she saw Devon come into the circle of candlelight. Justin and Lisa followed her, rebalancing the pattern: four of them, four of us, and Holly in the middle.

  I looked at the woman on the floor beside Jenna. “You didn’t tell them, either, Victoria? I thought you cared about these girls.”

  “I do.” Her makeup was streaked and her face contorted with pain, but she managed a veneer of composure. “Juliana found the book and set up the spell. But I was the one who worked it out so that no one had to die, and we could all of us benefit.”

  “Cole died.” Devon shook with rage as she stepped toward Victoria. “Cole died because of what you Sigmas made me.”

  “No. Because you couldn’t follow the rules. Your sisters tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. Did you think love would conquer all?”

  Devon still had the scissors in her hand, clutched like a weapon. Victoria’s mocking tone goaded her forward, but Lisa’s voice stayed her. “Don’t, Devon.”

  She looked up at her like a lost little girl. “I’m already a killer, so what does it matter?”

  Gently, Lisa took the scissors from her. “It matters. Believe me.”

  “My God.” Juliana’s voice was all contempt. “Just shut up already. I offer you the world, and all you do is whine.”

  The grimoire had, through all this, squatted like a living thing on the altar. Now Juliana pulled it closer, and flipped back the sleeves of her robe. “I was tired of sharing anyway. Holly, come here.”

  The girl moved like an automaton. Her mother didn’t glance at her, just turned to a new page in the book. Raising her arms, she started speaking again, a chanting drone of renewed vigor. The flame on the altar lamp jumped and danced, and I felt the power surge from someplace deep and elemental, beyond human reckoning.

  Justin had joined me, standing close by my shoulder. “What’s going on, Maggie?”

  “I don’t know.” This wasn’t in the parameters. The air was turning colder, growing thick. Devon and the Sigmas darted their eyes warily from Juliana to me as Lisa came to my other side.

  With a contemptuous disregard for all of us, Juliana lifted the censer. The smell had turned bitter and noxious, like stale ice and refrigerator coolant. Cold rolled out with the smoke, raising goose bumps on my skin. It crept into my bones, along with the realization of what she was doing: calling the thing that lay hidden at the heart of the pattern.

  Equal and opposite.

  My backup plan was really more of a desperate improvisation. I blew across the wooden bowl in my hands, fanning the red embers to tiny flames that fought against the clammy air. Kicking the duffel to Lisa, I said, “Time to pull a rabbit out of your hat, Gandalf. Justin, there’s a piece of notebook paper in there. I need you to hold it for me.”

  The glass on the pictures around the room had started to frost. Devon drew her jacket closed, Jenna and Kirby rubbed their bare arms, and Victoria huddled into herself. Standing beside her mother, Holly’s lips were turning blue.

  Juliana’s voice became harsh, rasping out the sharp, cutting words of her chant. Staring across at me, she pulled Holly’s arm to her and picked up a bronze dagger from the altar.

  “Don’t!” I started forward, without a clue how I could stop her. Justin’s hand held me in place, kept the balance from tipping even farther.

  “She’s mine to use,” the woman said. “They’re all mine.”

  “You can’t own people,” I argued. “And Hell can’t take them—her—without her consent.”

  I heard Jenna’s indrawn breath, and felt the cold intensify in answer to my naming.

  “They chose to be what they are, regardless of how they were created.” Juliana paused, as if she were listening to instructions whispered through her soul on an ill wind. When she spoke again, it was with cunning. “But you can trade places with them if you like. You have real power, and I would get a lot of bonus points for you.”

  “Give me a break, Ice Queen,” I said, “do I look like an allegorical lion to you?”

  She smirked. “I didn’t think so.” Without warning, she put the tip of her blade to her daughter’s thumb and cut until blood flowed freely. It dripped into the censer and hissed on the embers of incense. The smoke poured out like fog, flowing down the altar and across the circle. Frost spread in the wake; it rimed the tablecloth, the floor, and came toward us like a diamond-hard tide.

  I held out the bowl toward Lisa and she dropped in nuggets of frankincense and myrrh. The resin caught immediately, flared ruby and amber in the rude wooden vessel. “Paper, Justin.”

  His eye scanned the handwritten page. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Look.” I used enough bravado to convince both of us. “I don’t even want to know what she’s summoning over there. So excuse me if I go straight for the big gun.”

  Jenna dragged Victoria away from the encroaching frost; Devon—after palpable indecision—ran forward and grabbed Kirby, pulling her behind Justin, Lisa, and me—a strange sort of trinity if there ever was one.

  Raising the bowl, I breathed across the smoke, sending it out carrying the first words of my own spell.

  “Veni, Sancti Spiritu.”

  Come, Holy Spirit.

  Justin crossed himself, and Lisa whispered, “Amen.”

  39

  The frost slowed, but kept creeping toward us. Juliana gritted her teeth and growled a guttural string of words. She could have been ordering a metaphysical pizza for all I knew. I had just enough Latin to get through my own invocation. Catechism class was finally paying off.

  “Veni, Creator Spiritus!”

  I said it more strongly now, since the first tentative whisper hadn’t called down a bolt of lightning at my audacity.

  The infringing ice covered the floor, a sea of frosty white. We stood on a shrinking peninsula, and my bare feet cringed from the burning chill.

  “Mentes tuorum visita.”

  Come Creator Spirit. In our souls take Thy rest.

  The incense in my bowl glowed, as if fanned by intangible breath.

  “Imple superna gratia.”

  Come with Thy grace and heavenly aid …

  The frost stopped, inches from my toes.

  “Quae tucreasti pectora.”

  And fill the hearts which Thou hast made.

  Holly crumpled, like a puppet whose strings had been snipped. Just as abruptly, the ice retreated, a fast-motion thaw melting the ground for the coming spring.

  It converged on Juliana, ran up her robe and over her chest to her bare arms and neck. For a moment she was encrusted, like spun-sugar candy. Then the frost sank into her skin, and what looked out of her eyes was no longer human.

  “Uh, Lisa?” I held the bowl in two shaking hands. “Did she just absorb that … whatever … into herself?”

  “Yeah.” She sounded as poleaxed as I felt. “That’s unexpected.”

  “Why isn’t it cancelled out?”

  Justin answered. “The blood. You’ve got to—”

  “You bitch.” Victoria had gained her feet, lurching on her wretched knee, eyes fixed on Juliana’s face. “You’re still hogging all the power for yourself. You were never satisfied with an equal share.”

  Juliana—or what was left of her in there—stared at the other woman with disdain. “Like you would know what to do with it, Vicky. You never did want to go all the way with anyone really powerful.”

  Jenna tried to pull her back, recognizing the danger—maybe even Seeing it for what it was. “Victoria, please. She’s not …”

  Victoria shook the girl off, limping forward. “We were partners when we started this. And while I’ve nurtured this sisterhood, built it into something lasting and strong, you do nothing but take take take …�
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  Juliana’s hand came up in a dismissive gesture. “Whatever. Most people like instant gratification. Peter, for example.”

  “What?”

  Now her expression was just catty. “You don’t really think you inspired his meteoric political success, do you? With your prissy little pantsuits and your camera-friendly hair?”

  Victoria slapped Juliana across the face. The Julianathing reciprocated by flinging her across the room with one hand. The congressman’s wife hit the wall with a plaster-cracking thud and fell to the floor.

  The thing turned her—its—gaze, blazing with cold, on us. Distantly, I heard fire trucks approaching. Had they taken that long, or had that little actual time passed? It seemed as if we’d been waging battle for days.

  “Still have those scissors, Lisa?” I held my thumb over the bowl.

  Justin pushed my hand away, put his in its place. “She didn’t use her own. You shouldn’t, either.”

  “I’m not sure I can hurt you,” I said honestly.

  Lisa opened the scissors and put the silver point to Justin’s thumb. “Get on with it.”

  “What are you doing?” The transformed Sigma Prime demanded an answer, but I heard alarm thrumming through the voice.

  Her agitation renewed my confidence. “Basic math, Juliana. An equal positive and an equal negative equals zero. A gift for a theft.”

  Lisa cut the pad of Justin’s thumb and I caught three drops of blood in the bowl. They flashed as they hit the incense, and the resin heated up, red-hot, then glowing white. The bowl itself caught fire, and I dropped it.

  Flame sped across the floor, encircling the witch in a fiery prison. Her clothes began to steam, then her hair, then her breath, fogging like a winter day. Juliana seemed to deflate, then collapsed to the parquet. The steam around her rose into the air and the flame followed it, entwining the trails of vapor and banishing them with angry, defeated hisses.

  Hammering at the door. The firemen were trying to get in. Justin crossed the circle to Holly, lifting her limp body into his arms. “Can everyone else get out okay?”

  “What about Victoria?” Jenna asked.

  “Let the firemen move her,” I said. “Juliana, too.” Her body now a heap on the floor, she looked smaller.

  They ran for the door. I ran for the grimoire, not trusting luck to destroy it. My hands closed on it, then I snatched them back with a yelp of pain. The thing was burning cold. Grabbing the tablecloth, I scattered the altar paraphernalia and wrapped the book enough to grasp it. Then I turned and saw Juliana—not lying where she ought to be, but standing between me and the door.

  “You little bitch.” She had the bronze knife in her hand. Her eyes were feverish with madness. She hadn’t just looked into the abyss; she’d invited it in to set up house. And now she was hollowed out, nothing left but instinct and old patterns.

  “Give me the book.” She raised the knife, which suddenly seemed huge.

  I lifted the heavy tome as a shield, not interested in heroics or victory, only in survival. “Let’s get out of here, Juliana. The firemen are coming.”

  She slashed and I jumped back, staying out of reach of the blade. The fire was spreading, purifying and consuming. I tried again to reason with an unreasoning shell of a woman. “There’s a gas leak, Juliana—” She hacked at me, and I skittered back to where the fallen oil lamp had spilled, and I held the book over the flames. “Put down the knife, or I’ll drop—”

  The blade sliced across my arm and the book tumbled from my fingers.

  It didn’t even hurt at first. I watched, shocked, as bright red blood welled, dripped down my skin, fell to the floor. A lot of blood. Enough to make a little pool.

  I sensed more than saw her come at me again. Dodging, I slipped on the blood and crashed to the ground, hitting my head hard enough to make my vision blur. Crawling across the floor, leaving great smears of blood, I searched for something to defend myself.

  My hand closed on cold iron. The crowbar. As Juliana bent and grabbed my injured arm and dug in her nails, I swung.

  I swung with all my strength. I swung like a major leaguer.

  I swung like someone who wanted desperately to live through the next five minutes.

  The impact knocked the metal bar from my weakening fingers. It didn’t matter. Juliana collapsed on top of me, pinning my legs. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not.

  Neither did I want to know. The woman—witch, demon, whatever—had tried to kill me. And as I lay in a growing puddle of my own blood, it occurred to me that maybe she had succeeded.

  40

  I woke up in the hospital.

  On the plus side, I wasn’t dead.

  On the minus side, I had no idea how I got there, what day it was, or why an army of dwarves had taken pickaxes to the inside of my skull. I was also attached to an IV in one arm, which was scary, and the other was swathed in bandages and pain, which was worse.

  A soft snore made me turn my head. Justin was stretched in a recliner, sleeping with a book on his chest. He was cute asleep. I hadn’t thought I’d ever find that out.

  “Are you awake?” a nurse in Christmas-colored scrubs whispered from the doorway.

  “Yes.” My mouth felt like that same army of dwarves had marched through it in their dirty socks. She must be a good nurse, because she anticipated this, and held a cup of water with a straw to my parched lips.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  “Yeah. At least, I think so.”

  “Yes, I am,” said a groggy voice from the chair. Justin sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I am,” he confirmed.

  That was nice. That was nicer than all the luck in the world.

  He rose and came by the bed. “Your dad was here earlier, while you were getting the transfusion.”

  “I got a transfusion?” Alarmed, I looked at the nurse, who made a soothing noise and patted my blanket-covered knee.

  “You’re fine. You just lost a lot of blood.” She lifted my splinted arm and looked critically at my fingernails. “Can you wiggle your fingers? It may hurt.”

  It hurt like the devil himself was crawling out of my wrist. But I did it.

  “Excellent!”

  “Do I get a cookie?”

  “No, but you can have a Vicodin.”

  “Bring it on.”

  When she left Justin continued to hover, finally taking my IV hand and holding it as if I might shatter.

  “I’m not going to, you know.”

  “What?” he asked, understandably confused.

  “Break.”

  He let out a long, slow breath. “I thought you had. When the fireman carried you out of the house, covered in blood … Dammit, Maggie, I thought you were right behind me. I never would have left you. I never should—”

  “Hey.” I squeezed his hand as hard as I could with a needle stuck in me. “I know you’re a white knight. Now get over yourself.”

  He looked surprised, maybe a little offended, and finally amused. “Yeah. Okay.”

  We stayed that way for a while, holding hands, just … being. And then I had to ask. “Juliana. Is she …?”

  “She’s here in the hospital.”

  “Alive, then?” I didn’t feel relieved yet.

  “Psych ward.”

  My heart squeezed and it got hard to breathe. “Because of the crowbar? Did I …?” God. Had I broken her brain?

  “No,” he assured me firmly. “She woke up from that and started raving. She’s under restraints and observation. Probably will be for a long time.”

  “And Victoria?” I asked, tentative for a different reason. I’d always suspected her, always knew she wanted to use me. But it was a twisted kind of self-interest; she thought she could make things good for everyone, no losers, as long as everyone followed the rules.

  “Her neck and spine were fractured. She’ll live. That’s all they’re saying for the moment.”

  I closed my eyes, a new kind of pai
n subsuming all the physical misery. “I feel like I failed at saving them, too.”

  Gently, his hand stroked my hair. “I know. But you can’t save everybody.”

  “You saved me.” Lisa spoke from the doorway, tentatively, her coat over her arm. “I’m pretty grateful for that.”

  “Hey! Come in here.” I tried to push myself up, with no success.

  She edged into the room. “Are they giving you any decent drugs?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  Still unsure, she glanced from Justin to me. “Should I come back later?”

  “No.” He grabbed his book from the chair. “Sit down if you want. I can leave you guys alone.”

  “Please don’t,” she said politely.

  I figured this could go on for hours, so I interrupted, giving her a narrow-eyed stare. “Did you blow off your exams to come help me?”

  “Can I get you a Coke or something? You want some water?”

  “Don’t dodge the question!”

  She ducked her head and stared at the floor so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “A’s are overrated anyway.”

  “Oh, Lisa.”

  “It’s no big deal. A couple of incompletes. I can make them up.”

  “But your scholarship,” I said, sorrow and gratitude mixed in my voice. “Your GPA.”

  She raised her eyes and despite her guard, I could read the raw emotion there. Something fundamental had altered in the last few days. Her soul was still wounded, but it was as if a nasty, dirty field dressing had been ripped off, exposing the injury to clean, healing air.

  “It’s not just that I owe you for saving my life last spring,” she began. “Though I do. But after everything, you trusted me again, when I thought I’d never even be able to trust myself.” She looked across the bed at Justin, who was trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room. “And you did, too, Sir Galahad. Though you don’t have to like it. It means …”

  She trailed off, and after a beat, Justin supplied the answer. “Redemption.”

  “Atonement,” she corrected, though I suspected they were both right. “A chance, anyway. Even if it takes the rest of my life.” She glanced at me, deliberately shifting her mood. “Which might not be that long, if I have to keep saving your butt.”