I had perched Rachael behind the house on the golf course side, in a short tree, within whip length of the back door. Bliss, terrified and uncertain, but determined to stay, was with her. I didn’t want them so close to any potential action, but it was give them a real job or have them pick a job for themselves, probably one that included them going into the vamp lair. Rachael was strangely eager for that, and it would surely result in injury or death for them.
Big Evan was positioned on the golf course, upwind, so that when he played, even the air itself would assist his spell. Unfortunately the skunk smell was coming from that general direction, and I wondered how well he was dealing with the stink. And the amorous skunks for that matter.
With everyone in place, I headed back where Shiloh waited. It was across the road and down the block from Shoffru’s house, about a hundred feet away, in a vacant house that was being remodeled from the first floor up, including the windows and doors. Shiloh was sitting at an open space where a door would eventually go, on the second-floor porch, Eli’s gun on a tripod that she had assembled like a pro. Southern country girls are no pushovers even before they acquire fangs.
I chuckled under my breath and nodded at the rifle and scope in Shiloh’s hands. “Keep an eye on the house. Once the action starts, any vamps who try to escape, you shoot. Humans you can let go.” I paused. “You can tell the difference from this distance, can’t you?”
Shiloh gave a ladylike snort of derision and repositioned her rifle. “I could do that the first day I woke up dead. Prey don’t just smell different, they look different.” I wanted to shudder at her casual use of the word prey, but she added, “They look beautiful and desirable and tasty.” Her voice went dreamy and dropped into a lower register. “They look like something you want to protect and love and savor as you drink them down. It’s just a matter of deciding how to blend all the desires into one, and then take control of that desire.”
There didn’t seem to be much left to say to that one. “Ick” seemed counterproductive to keeping her balanced and useful to the plan. I settled on “All righty, then.” I didn’t know her well yet, but already Molly’s niece gave me the willies.
A human form was moving slowly down the road behind the house we had appropriated. At this hour, it was either a dog walker, a sleepwalker, or Molly. “Gotta go,” I said. One-handed, I swung off the second-story porch and landed on the walkway below.
Pulling on Beast’s speed, I skirted through backyards, swung over low fences, and up to Molly. She stood for a moment, staring at me, lit by a security light from a house nearby.
She had cut her hair, and wild red curls danced in the night breeze. Her skin was pale in the dim illumination of security lights. She had lost weight. A lot of weight. She was wearing skinny jeans and a dirty T-shirt with a way-too-big sweater. She looked afraid—shaking, her hands trembling, her heart rate too fast and uneven. Molly stood there, waiting. And I pulled on Beast’s eyesight to see her magic. It was no longer vibrant and spangled with motes of power, like rainbows on steroids with diamonds. It was black and dense and pulled tightly to her, as if she wore a black cloud. Flashes appeared within the cloud, like lightning, but clutched close and well contained. For now.
“Jane?”
“I’m here,” I said.
She looked toward my voice and smiled, her face looking lined and more wrinkled than I remembered. “I’m glad I got to see you again.”
What? I analyzed that short statement and came to a conclusion I didn’t like. “Why!” I huffed out. “Because you intend to end things tonight?” I steeled myself against my next words. “As in jumping off a bridge or something? Because that’s just selfish, Molly.”
She turned her head to the aside, and I knew what she intended. No! Beast screamed, the fear echoing inside me.
Molly turned her head to me, wrapped her arms around her body as if from an inner chill. Quietly, she said, “If I . . . stay around.” She chuckled as if that was funny somehow. “I’ll keep killing people. And I will eventually kill my husband. My children. I have no choice, Jane. You know all about choices, about sacrifice. After all”—her voice went gruff and cold—“you sacrificed my sister. And my friendship when you killed her.”
The wind changed directions and I smelled Molly strongly. And Jack Shoffru, his scent on her, mixed with hers. And I realized she was trying to make me mad, trying to make me go away and let her do herself harm. I didn’t respond to her hurt, but to her intent. “Don’t be an idiot,” I spat. “Because I’m not dumb enough to get mad at you.”
Molly dipped her head and looked at her arms wrapped around herself. The smell of shame filled the air, overriding the stink of vamp and blood.
“I also know about running away,” I said, “when staying around is so much harder. And I know the happiness, the”—I searched for a word and had to settle on—“the joy when sticking around and fighting things means I get to keep the people I love near me.”
Molly seemed to hear that, her head lifting a fraction. “I’ll help you figure this out. We all will. But”—I took a deep breath that ached all over at what I was about to ask—“I need your magics, your death magics, now. I need you to drain most of the life out of a vampire for me. I need you to find a way to use the magic that you have right now. I need you to accept it, control it, and use it. For good. For the light.”
Molly made a choking sound. “No,” she whispered, strangling. “You can’t use death magics for the light. I have to end it tonight before I do something horrible.”
Claws scored my gut and I grabbed myself, holding my middle as I broke out into a hot sweat. How was I going to fix this? How? And how did death magic react to the death of the magic user? Would it even let her die? Or would it take her over? Stop her? Force her to drain others to sustain itself? Did witch magics even work that way?
Deep inside, Beast growled and leaped to the forefront of my brain. Crouched. Padded forward. I could feel her, pawpawpaw. She stopped and extended her front claws, pressing them into the place where she and I joined. Beast is not prey to Molly.
My breath hitched as I tried to figure out what she meant. You can protect us from death magic?
The I/we of Beast can do many things. Cannot change her magic. Cannot bring back earth magic. But can keep Molly alive for kits. Can protect the I/we of Beast.
I wasn’t exactly sure what Beast was talking about, but I had paused too long already. I’d have to fly by the seat of my pants. “Molly, Magic 101,” I said, making my tone demanding even though I was breaking inside at the thought of her taking final steps to protect others. “If you don’t use your magic, what happens to it?”
“It dies. It shrivels. It becomes inert,” she whispered. “Or . . . or it goes off, feral magics everywhere around you.”
“Like your magic is doing,” I said, “like it started doing to the woods behind your house, to the flower in your hotel room.” She snuffled agreement. “And it may not let you die,” I said baldly.
Molly went still, considering my statement. “No. Oh. No . . .” She shuddered hard.
“You have to use it, Mol. You have to drain something or it will kill everything and everyone around you, even from a distance, like it did the two vamps, like it did the humans who got sick and had to be healed. You have a choice. You can practice on the vamp who stole you and hurt you. The witch vamp who wants to kill Leo and take over New Orleans. The witch who wants to use the blood diamond, which probably means he’ll reinstitute blood sacrifice, probably of witch children,” I said carefully, still piecing it all together. “You can take the steps you’re talking about, and let Shoffru win. Or you can help stop him. Your choice. Run”—I meant die—“or play the hand you were dealt. Bring good out of the evil.”