The angel was just a grave marker, but it made a perfect focus for the ritual. The changelings had made it represent whatever it was that they desired. The angel became a demon.
Holly took a few steps forward, still searching the ground with her mind. Her senses were filled with the tang of damp cedar and wet earth, the drumroll of the rain on her umbrella, but she could find nothing more. As she approached the angel, nothing became less than nothing. The edges of the area's shield were detectable by only the subtlest probing.
Holly sought more carefully now, teasing out one fact, then another, like silver tinsel lost in the grass. Thoughts, ideas, things that the participants of the ritual had known.
Yes, this was where the summonings had taken place. They started in the warehouse of Alessandro's client, but the last, most elaborate, and ultimately successful rituals had happened where she stood. No wonder Mac—or whoever was giving him orders—had tricked her and Alessandro into coming here. This was a place of evil power.
A scattering of junk covered the feet of the angel, telling the tale. Offerings. Holly bent, poking in the mud with one cold finger. Candle stubs. Half-burned tablets of incense. Miniature liquor bottles—either libations or party favors. There were a few round metal disks about the size of coins. Holly picked one up, holding the disk to catch the rainy daylight. The metal was stamped with the figure of a man with a lyre.
She didn't know what it was, but it must have significance. She slipped it into her pocket, eyeing the stained, chipped features of the angel as she did so. Creepy. The blank stone gaze gave away nothing, but she could feel malevolence coming off it in waves.
The consciousness of the place knew she was there. Magic stirred beneath her, an attack dog getting to its feet. The cloaking spell wanted her gone.
Crap. Holly backed away from the grave as fast as the mud allowed, turning only when she had made it a few yards away. Her feet managed a slurping trot until she was well out of the graveyard.
Well, that was interesting. She had assumed the demon was calling the shots. Maybe it was now but, in her vision, it was the hideous quasi-vampires who had desired the spell. The man with the book was no more than a technician. The changelings had opened the portals to call others of their kind. They had raised the army of ghouls. Only then did they summon the big demon guns.
What did the changelings want? Were they planning another revolt against the vampires?
Holly could imagine it all now: She pictured the dreadful creatures, uncool social outcasts hanging out in somebody's basement, sucking back the vampire equivalent of cheese puffs and beer and dreaming of vengeance. Now they had a demon, a supernatural bully to kick sand in the face of the queen who sneered at them. No doubt they'd bitten off far more than—No, she thought. No biting analogies where vamps were concerned.
But who was the guy with the book?
Someone was working with them. The summoner, surely, but it definitely didn't feel as though he were in charge. The energy he gave off in the vision was much more subdued.
She had to tell Alessandro. She hitched up her sleeve to look at her watch. It was just past one. There were still hours to go before any vampire would be up. The only thing she could do right now was get home, where it was safe.
As her feet splashed through the puddles, her right boot started to leak.
"Holly!"
She turned, just in the process of opening the front door. Mac was hurrying up the walk, the collar of his raincoat turned up. "Where have you been?" he asked. "It's long past lunchtime."
What's he doing here? "Did we have a date?"
"I think we should." His hair was damp, rain glistening in the dark waves, his eyes alight with warmth.
Her hackles rose as he climbed the porch steps. He lured us to the attack in the cemetery last night—but he doesn't know I know that. Or does he? Did he see us fighting the ghouls? Did he watch while we kissed?
Mac was carrying two paper grocery bags, one with each arm.
"What have you got there?" she asked, forcing a friendly tone into her voice. Is he the one the changelings worked with to open the portals? The silhouette she had seen in her vision looked different, but she couldn't be certain. How could she find out?
By luring him in. Gaining his confidence.
"I brought food." Following at Holly's heels, he set his two bags on the floor of the entryway and bent to take off his wet shoes. "We had such a good time the other night that I thought we could do it again."
The night I can't remember. Did he have something to do with that? Holly's skin crawled. "How could we possibly top that?"
He winked. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. Lunch is my specialty. Have you eaten?"
And Alessandro can't crash brunch. Holly pulled off one boot, losing a sock in the process. "No, I haven't had anything to eat today. Aren't you back at work yet?"
"No. Bureaucratic crap."
His irritation sounded real, but disbelief fingered its way down her spine. Holly summoned a smile. "Do you mind getting started while I change? I'm soaked through."
She was taking a huge risk, possibly a stupid one. But I'm on my guard now.
When she got upstairs Holly turned on the shower, stepping under the hot spray only long enough to get warm. Then she left it running, using the noise as an alibi to buy time.
If she was going to confront the man who had tried to hand her over to the changelings, there was no way she was doing it unprepared. Holly dressed, but layered charms in every pocket and fold, tucking them into her bra, beneath her T-shirt, even inside her socks. Kibs sat on her bed, watching her, his yellow eyes following every motion.
She got down on her hands and knees, groping under the bed for the long, flat box where she had stored many of her witch's tools out of Ben's sight. When she lifted the lid, it was as though she were being released from the confines of the box, too. She unpacked her silver knife, an incense burner of hammered brass, the square of Chinese silk she used as an altar cloth, and quickly arranged them on her dresser. She could set up a proper altar later.
Why did I hide all this? How could I let myself do it? Was I that desperate for a boyfriend? It seemed ridiculous now, but at the time she had been so anxious not to frighten Ben off. I'd like to think I was just being considerate, but I wasn't considering myself.
As if commenting on her thoughts, Kibs yawned, showing every tooth in his head. Holly gave a small, silent laugh. Ben and his squeamishness were in the past, and she had a bigger worry making a late lunch in her kitchen.
She prepared four candles, rubbing spell-saturated oils along their length and carving protective symbols into the wax. She went up to the third floor and placed one candle in a window on each side of the house. Standing at the top of the staircase, she invoked the fiery energy of the candles, reinforcing the protective wards that guarded her home. Mac was already inside, but the magic would help give her the upper hand. He was on her turf.
Holly felt the heat of the spell course through her bones, sinking down to the house's foundations to draw energy from the earth beneath, then up to draw the power from the rainy skies above. She let it flow into the house, giving it strength. The house seemed to inhale, as if its natural vibration went up a notch. The evidence of success was heartening. The magic had come easily and with only a little pain, as if she had found a better groove. She had stretched herself these last few days. Maybe the exercise was paying off.