The beam came, and he had his hand up to deflect it. The angle was off, so it didn't bounce back straight and burn the implant out, but it did pass through her hair, raising some smoke.
"Do you want to try that again? I thought not."
He made a fist, and crushed the mirror to shards, which he rubbed into her jaw.
"Let's get some air into the wounds, Jesse. You've a pretty face. I think we can make it interesting, give it some character, a few lines here, a few holes there…"
She tried for his throat again.
"Persistent little minx, eh? I was impressed with the Dead Rat roster, by the way. Especially Rodriguez. Fingers through the eyes. I always like that one myself. Of course, I don't have bolts in my knuckles to make it easy."
He bent under her fingerthrust.
"Takes the sport out of it, somehow."
A stone sang against the stones beside his head. He hadn't forgotten the Indian. He wasn't relevant to this situation, but he could be a minor danger.
"Why don't you just give up, Jesse? You can't live through this day. I'll tell you what, I'll make it painless. You can't say fairer than that."
She didn't answer him, just made a few passes in the air.
Dr Proctor felt stings on his face. And trickling blood.
"Neat. You got the glass out, and used it. You have resources."
It was time to finish it.
XIII
Hawk-That-Settles watched Jesse fight with Dr Proctor. His contribution had been meagre, and unappreciated by either of the participants.
Overhead, the sun had stopped moving. That was the signal. Now, it was his part in the ritual.
He drew a circle in the sand…
Dr Proctor got a hold on Jesse, forcing her down.
…he sang the song of the moon and the crocodile once more.
A cloud appeared in the sky, a black dot above the horizon, burping upwards.
Jesse's face was in the sand, which blew away from the flagstones beneath. She was coughing. Dr Proctor had one hand at the back of her neck, the other free. She was pinned beneath his body. He was scientifically killing her.
The cloud came through the sky like a bird of prey. It seemed to grow bigger as it got nearer. It didn't look like a cloud any more. It was a dart of ink shafting through a clear liquid, bubbling behind, pointed in front.
Hawk sang of the triumph of the crocodile.
Jesse's hands pushed at the sandy stones.
Dr Proctor exerted more pressure. He was only touching the nape of her neck, but blood was leaking from around her optic implant.
The cloud was overhead, blotting out the sun.
A shadow fell on Santa de Nogueira.
Jesse had sand up her nose. She didn't believe she had lost so easily. Dr Proctor was fast, and he knew things about pain she would never even begin to comprehend.
Her visions had been wrong. She would die today, and never know who the other faces were, the man with the guitar, the dark-faced foreigner and the nun with the clear-handled pistol. Perhaps they were just the figments of a dream.
Her brain was turning in on itself. Dr Proctor was using her body as an instrument, and playing upon it a concerto of agony. His fingers found nerves, and sent signals through them.
He was indeed getting past her bones, pushing tendrils of death into her brain.
She struggled, but he had her as surely as if she were in a strait-jacket. The weight of his body held her down.
As he killed her, he crooned in her ear. They were tunes she didn't recognize. Opera, she thought.
A blackness fell over her vision, and she assumed this was the moment of parting from her flesh…
"Qual terrible momento," Dr Proctor sang, "piu formar non so parole; densa nube di spavento per che copra i rai del sole! Come rosa inaridita ella sta tra morte e vita; chi per lei non e commosso ha di tigre in petto il cor!"
This terrible moment, he translated mentally, my words cannot describe; a dense cloud of terror seems to obscure the sun's rays…
There was a shadow.
…like a fading rose, she lies twixt life and death!
A cold dark fell upon him.
…he who does not pity her has a tiger's heart in his breast!
He pressed Jessamyn Bonney to the stones, squeezing her life out drop by drop.
When he was done, he would go to work on her, mutilating the corpse. The Indian would appreciate that. Of course, the Navaho spirit world would hardly welcome one who had, in life, replaced so much of her original body.
The shadow fell on his shoulders like a heavy weight, freezing him where it touched. He felt as if something were passing through him. The darkness sank through his body, leaving ice behind.
His grip on Jesse's neck relaxed.
The Ancient Adversary slipped through the meat-thing, and into the Vessel. Enfleshed, it was overwhelmed by the sensations of the world.
Hawk's song ended, and he stood, watching in awe as the transformation took place.
Jesse felt fire burst inside her heart, spreading through her body. The weight was gone from her back, and she could move again. She wiped the remaining glass out of her face. She felt her wounds closing over.
In her mind, she was a long-jawed reptile, fastening rows of teeth into a struggling hog, refusing to let him go.
Jessamyn Bonney faded to nothing inside her own brain, and the new tenant took over.
Lashing as if she had a tail, she turned over, and held fast to the hog.
Dr Proctor gulped as Jesse grabbed his throat. His aria was stopped. He saw something new in her eye as she stood up, taking him with her.
He struck her, but his well-aimed blows were feeble. She ignored whatever pain she felt.
She was changing.
For the first time, Dr Ottokar Proctor considered the possibility of his own death. It was not a pleasant thought.
What if the sheep lived on somehow? What if they were waiting for him on the other side? Once he was dead, what could they not do to him?
Jesse opened her mouth, and roared. Dr Proctor thought he saw endless rows of needle-sharp teeth.
The shadow was gone, and they were struggling in the sun.
Hawk-That-Settles crossed his legs, and watched the end. The sounds coming from Jesse's mouth were barely human. Dr Proctor was quiet now, nearly unconscious. It was a good day to end it.
The Ancient Adversary and the Vessel were inside one another like a snake swallowing its tail. Both changed as they flowed together. It adjusted fast to the comforts and discomforts of physical form. Her spirit swelled as the being from the Outer Darkness combined with every particle of her body.
Jazzbeaux, Bonney, Jessamyn, Jesse, Frankenstein's Daughter. She flipped through her names, her faces, her identities. They were all faint now, indistinct.
And yet the Ancient Adversary was fading too, diluted by the strength of the Vessel.
It had never been a crocodile. That came from somewhere else, giving it the rudiments of a form.
She had never really been any of the people others had thought her, never felt comfortable with her own picture of herself.
Now she was something harder, as sharp and bright as a diamond. Jessamyn Bonney was dead.
She was something else…
Dr Proctor gave up the struggle, and hung limp in her embrace. She had spared his spine, but snapped his mind.
Psychiatrists had debated his sanity at length. He had joined in their arguments as a way of amusing himself back in Sunnydales. He had had no opinion either way.
Now, he drooled a thin line of spittle. Inside his head, the last bars of Lucia di Lammermoor faded away. The iris closed over Porky Pig.
They would have no question to solve now. If he hadn't been mad when he left the asylum, he certainly would be if they took him back.
She dropped him, not even bothering to administer a killing blow. Whatever she had become, she couldn't be bothered with crushing insects under her feet.
In Salt Lake City, Elder Nguyen Seth screamed, as if icicles had been jabbed into his brain. Within him, talons curved, digging deeper into his heart. The Ancient Adversary was upon the Earth, and the Dark Ones were angry. He staggered from the font of blood, pain coursing through his entire body, and made his agonized way to the isolation chamber. The tank was always ready.