Vicious Grace Part 22

"Jayne."

I looked up. Aubrey was on the stairs, hidden from the waist down by the drop. His hair was tousled from his work. He looked exhausted. We'd all been up for too long.

"We ready?" I asked.

"Ex says it's time," he said.

"I'll hold the fort up here," David said, hefting his shotgun. In his wide hands, it looked almost small.

I walked to Chogyi Jake, kneeling by his side for what I knew might be the last time. His eyes were still closed, lost in meditation. His face was pale, and his breath quick and shallow.

"Hey, guy," I said softly. "You ready to do this thing?"

He didn't answer. I put a hand on his shoulder, surprised by how cool his skin felt.

"Hey. Chogyi. It's time. Are you-"

His body shifted, slouched, and spilled back onto the ground. His head made a hollow sound when it hit the floor. He didn't try to catch himself. I wasn't aware of screaming, but Aubrey, Kim, Ex, and David all appeared at my side. Aubrey gently moved me, kneeling by Chogyi Jake's body, pressing fingers to his neck.

"That's not good," he said.

"What's the matter?" Ex asked. He sounded as much annoyed as concerned.

"Those guys back in the subbas.e.m.e.nt? They kicked him harder than I thought," Aubrey said. "He's in shock. I think that means internal bleeding. I don't know how long he's been unconscious."

"Well, get his legs up," Kim said.

"But the ceremony," I said. "The spell. Can we still . . . ?"

"No," Ex said. "No, we have a problem."

TWENTY-THREE.

We stood over the body, looking at one another. Chogyi Jake lay on the floor, bleeding to death without spilling a drop, and I didn't know if I was relieved or frightened. Somewhere far above us, in a different world, the sky over Lake Michigan would be a robin's egg blue. The sun minutes from pouring down over the city. We were trapped in the dark. Weariness dragged at all their faces. It probably dragged at mine too. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a day and a half and wake up to find out it had all been a bad dream. I couldn't go on. I went on.

"Can we revive him?" I asked. "Just to get through the binding."

"I don't know," Aubrey said. "If we had . . . smelling salts? Or something to up his blood pressure?"

"Kim?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Not an MD," she said. "All I know is we put his legs up, get a blanket over him, and get him to the ER."

He might almost have been sleeping, except that his breath was so fast and so shallow. Now that he was lying flat, I thought there was a little more color in his face. I had almost talked myself into believing I could stand to watch him die if there was a reason. If something came out of it. This? I couldn't do it.

"Okay," I said. "We have to get him back upstairs."

"No," Ex said. "We have to go on without him. If we go back, it's going to find us, and then it's over. As long as we're in here, there's a chance."

"What chance?" I said. "What chance do we have? Because the way it looks from here, we're screwed."

Kim murmured something too quietly for me to here. Aubrey, standing at her side, turned to look at her.

"I say we go up and let the thing out," I went on. "Break the prison. I know it's a risk, but someone tracked it down and bound it before. We can do that again, but after we get Chogyi Jake to a doctor. After we find a different binding. After-"

"I said I'll do it," Kim said. "I'll go in. I'll . . . I'll take his place."

"You can't," Aubrey said.

Kim met his gaze. The darkness under her eyes was almost purple. The bruise on her face had darkened, and the cut lip was scabbed black. Her hair was a collection of greasy strings. She gave him a faint, weary smile, and for a moment, she was beautiful.

"It's okay," she said. "I can do this."

If I hadn't known before, the anguish on Aubrey's face would have been enough to show me how much the thought of losing Kim broke him. Even with everything else, I found there was a small part of my heart that ached seeing him feel that strongly for a woman that wasn't me.

"Actually, you can't," Ex said. "You know how to channel your will. You've worked puts like this before. This isn't something I can do without experienced people at all four points on the circle."

He was looking at me. His eyes were blue as gas flame. I could feel him wanting me to understand something, and if I hadn't been up all night, if I hadn't been wrung out four times in the course of a single day, if there had been any neurotransmitter left in my brain, I might have gotten it on my own. As it was, I needed a prompt.

"Ah. What exactly did you need this guy to do?" David asked.

I looked at him. Eager, worried, guilty over the part he'd played, and frightened of the beast he'd set loose. He was the only one here without any experience. He was the only one who could take Declan Souder's place. All I had to do was talk him into it. Now. Before Chogyi Jake died.

Lie to him, I thought. Tell him something that puts him in the box. Tell him we need a focus for our energy, that we need someone to hold the bones just right, something. Anything. Just put him in the place and get this done. An emotion I didn't recognize was rushing through me. I felt light. Unmoored. My chest was widening from inside, and it was wrapped around Chogyi Jake and the chance of getting him upstairs. I thought for a moment this was some new kind of panic, and then I recognized it. It was hope. It was relief. As sure as kittens in springtime, I was about to kill David Souder, and I was grateful.

I felt something spiritual give way with an almost physical click. I knew something in me was broken, that it was going to be broken for a very long time. And I knew I wasn't going to lie to David.

"He was going to go into the coffin," I said. "We were going to drive the rider into him, then seal the coffin and bury it again. Put it back where it was before."

David rocked back on his heels like I'd struck him. His gaze went to each of us in turn. He tightened his grip on the shotgun.

"It was what your grandfather did," I said. "It was his life's work. You saw the thing that came out of that hole. You've been living with it in your head for over a year now. You know what it's capable of."

"You were going to kill him?"

"Bury him alive," I said. "It's called an interment binding. And it might be the only chance we have of stopping this thing."

"But-"

"David," I said. My voice was soft, but I could hear the steel in it. "If there were another way, I swear I'd take it. But you let this thing out. You're the only one who can put it back. I need you to be as strong as Grandpa Del was. I need you to be as brave."

He looked at me, his eyes filling with horror and panic.

"Please," I said. "We don't have much time."

"What . . ." He swallowed and tried again. "What would I need to do?"

"Lie back," Ex said. "Close your eyes. We do the rest. But you don't come out alive, and it won't be peaceful."

David snorted, a deep sound, like a bull facing the toreador. His jaw slid forward a degree and his eyes narrowed.

"You can make this right," I said. "We'll help you make this right."

He was quiet for a few seconds that lasted days. When he spoke, his voice belonged to a smaller man.

"Good thing I never had kids," he said and tried a smile.

"Give me the gun," I said.

He looked down at his hand like he was surprised to see it there. For a moment, I didn't know what he was going to do. Then he took it by the barrel and held the stock out to me. It was heavier than I'd expected.

"Grandpa Del could do it, right?" he said. "I can't see doing less."

"Thank you, David," I said.

He nodded, but he wouldn't meet my gaze. I took his hand, and he let me lead him down into the darkness.

THE OPEN coffin lay in its shallow grave, the lid ready at its side. Ex set up the ancient-looking, hissing lanterns around the ruined ward, their filaments glowing a perfect white, too bright to look at. The shadows they cast on the walls didn't flicker. Grandpa Del's bones lay just to one side among the rotten concrete and fragile rebar. Ex murmured words that might have been Latin or something older over his handful of salvaged nails. His improvised hammer was a nine-inch length of galvanized pipe. Aubrey and Kim let bits of pale dirt fall from their hands, creating the circle like they were making a sand drawing. The broken boxes and twisted machinery stood in mute witness as David lowered himself carefully to stand in the coffin. It looked too narrow for him until he lay down to try it. Then it only looked almost too narrow.

He saw me watching him and grinned.

"I'm used to it," he said. "My first car was a VW Bug."

I laughed. Chogyi Jake was at the top of the stairs, still unconscious. Still breathing. We were moving as quickly as we could.

"It's not so bad," he said. "Chances are pretty good I'd have killed myself anyway. If you hadn't come, I'd still be back at my place, thinking I was crazy, right?"

"Probably," I said.

"So at least this way, it's not like nothing good comes out of it, right?"

Tell yourself that, I thought. For ten more minutes, tell yourself this is something besides h.e.l.lishly unfair.

"You're a good man," I said.

"Hey. Jayne. Could you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

He sat up, his arms wrapping his knees. He looked like he was in a rowboat too small to reach the sh.o.r.e.

"Alexis. My ex. Tell her I did something real. Tell her I made a difference."

There was a history in those words. A boy who'd met a girl, fallen in love or at least in bed. A wedding that was supposed to end with happily ever after and wound up in divorce court instead. Those were the bones of it, but they carried the flesh of a life on them. There had been a first time they'd met, a first kiss, a first fight. Maybe he was thinking right now of the moment when everything might have gone one way but instead fishtailed into another, or of the one thing he'd said that he regretted. The last kiss. The last thing he'd said to her.

All of those details that made it his life, his history, were about to be wiped away.

"I'll tell her," I said. "Promise."

Ex surveyed the circle of dirt, his expression sour. He didn't find anything to object to. I watched David watching him, and I could see the fear in his eyes like fish swimming under ice.

"We should do this soon," David said. "Before I chicken out."

"You won't," Ex said. "You're too strong for that. It's going to be okay."

"I'm going to die," David said.

"We all are," Ex said. "Sooner or later. This just means you'll see G.o.d's face before I get to."

David blinked and managed an amused smile, then twisted in the narrow s.p.a.ce, digging at his sock. A moment later, he handed my paper talisman up to Ex.

"Hey, if I'm supposed to get possessed, I probably shouldn't have this, eh?"

Ex's face went grayer. I wondered what would have happened if David hadn't remembered it.

"No, probably not," Ex said.

"Okay," Kim said. "I think we're ready."

"You should lie down, David," Ex said.

Slowly, David lay back, folding his arms over his chest. I heard Ex whispering a benediction as he made the sign of the cross in the air. Then the four of us took our places at the cardinal points. Ex began chanting. Kim and Aubrey and I came in one at a time, like kids singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." The comparison struck me as hilarious, and I had to bring my focus back to the moment before I took out nos dico vobis and put in life is but a dream.

I couldn't tell if the shuddering was the power of the qi flowing among us, the rider becoming suddenly aware of us, or my own exhausted body. My eyes closed, and I tried to keep my intention tightened down to a single point. The flutter of up-all-night random thoughts was my enemy. I couldn't afford to worry about Chogyi Jake or the guards we'd hurt. I couldn't wonder what Oonishi was doing, or whether Eric had planned to do something like this, or what I was going to do about changing my ringtone. There could only be the words, cycling around all of us.

I became vaguely aware that I could feel the others: Kim and Ex and Aubrey. I knew that Kim's left knee was aching badly. I knew that Ex was suffering a headache that he hadn't mentioned. They were becoming part of my own body, unfamiliar and immediate and close. I'd never been part of a circle like this before, and the intimacy of it was startling. I felt Kim's desperate hope. Aubrey's guilt and confusion and discomfort at his psychic proximity to Kim and me at the same time, and I knew when he felt my amus.e.m.e.nt, remembering what he'd said about not liking the idea of a menage a trois. And Ex. His mind was a furnace: powerful, unnerving s.e.xual desire; guilt as black as ink; and a bone-deep resolve that felt like a mother bear ready to kill and die for her cubs. Our minds slid into one another, the barriers between us softening, weeping, being erased in the whirlpool of our combined intention. We reached out for it.

And then we had it.

The rider's howl was inaudible and deep as a well. Its rage raked cold teeth against us, tearing at our minds. It gathered itself and launched a furious a.s.sault on the combined mind we had created. I pushed back, or Ex did. Or Kim. It was a distinction without a difference. We shifted, pulling the rider down. I felt the words of the chant roughening in my throat. I wanted to cough, but I didn't dare to. My spine and knees ached, and I was sweating like I'd been put in a fire. It had to go down, into the coffin, into David's waiting flesh. I bared my teeth, forcing out the words. My jaw hurt. The rider didn't move. I felt it floating in the air that was either graveyard-still or hurricane-whipped or both. I knew that if I opened my eyes, it would be there, just like in the dream. Its inhuman fingers brushed against me, grabbing at me, trying to break my concentration. We could not make it move.

And then it slipped. It caught itself almost immediately, but it slipped. I felt the surge of joy from all of us, and our gestalt mind redoubled its effort. The rider threw images at us like stones. Worms crawling through living flesh. Fire-charred bodies. A naked woman stretched upon a cross while a pale man did something unspeakable. The smell of burning hair filled my nostrils. Of burning skin. The smell of the vast, cold ocean, lifeless as a desert, and more hostile. A woman's voice, soft and throaty, offered obscene things and a man's low growl threatened force. Every time it came too close to a weakness, every time one of us recoiled in fear or shame, the others flowed in. The rider could have broken any of us, but together we were more than four fragile, imperfect, wounded people.

Together, we were Legion.

The rider slipped again, and for a moment, David was in the unreal struggle too. I heard him crying out in the old civil defense ward, miles away from me and close enough to touch. He fought, pushing the rider away in mindless panic. I felt him drowning in the filth and ice water; I heard his heels kicking against the bottom of the open casket.

It's all right, we thought to him. This is the worst part. It's almost over.