Planet Hate, page 24
In subsequent years, hazy records suggested that the gem had been removed from the necklace to become a brooch worn by a fortune teller in the latter part of the Georgian era, before finally being incorporated into a charm bracelet when Queen Victoria had popularized the wearing of such ornaments throughout the British Empire. That bracelet, in turn, ended up as part of a collection given over to the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris, but the eerily colored gemstone itself was removed, either prior to the donation or at some point shortly thereafter.
The bruja, Maria Halloween, had acquired it a hundred years ago under circumstances best left undisclosed. She could feel its succubus power throbbing at her breast as she hid it in a pocket, and she had carried it with her or around her ever since. Realizing that it could leech the power of souls, seeing it draw at the essence of another many years ago, the woman had waited those subsequent years to employ it, waiting for something truly special before she tapped its power again. The presence of anam-charas, the “soul friends” conjoined throughout history, promised the very jolt she was seeking, and even then she had had to take an enormous effort to bring them here in the same place.
Engaged, the soul stone began to suck energy, molding it so that it might be imbibed by the bearer of the gem. In essence, the gem turned its bearer into a dynamo, able to take and convert energy.
EVEN UNCONSCIOUS, Kane felt the pulling at his essence and bore the incredible strain of losing himself to another. He was a strong man, mentally and physically, and he should have been able to fight this. But the thing that lurked behind his eye, the otherness, the fleck of evil that had physically embedded itself in him, infected his thoughts, blasting the memory and the experiences of another across his own.
He felt four millennia pass as he sat hunched up in the pitch-black room inside the rock, the only light the light of his own veins, glowing like magma in the darkness. It was cold, the bone cold of the void, of space. The prison-cell asteroid had been sent on a long orbit of the Milky Way, designed to never return, and Ullikummis—the thing that was now in Kane’s memory in place of himself—had been trapped inside, banished from the kingdom of Ka, the Earth.
To be lonely loses all meaning after four thousand years alone. Every day Kane—which is to say Ullikummis—uttered just one word, that he would remember its sound, remember how much he hated it: Enlil. It was the name of his own father.
Kane grasped for his own memories, feeling consciousness return. Vaguely the ex-Magistrate was aware of the noise in the cavern, aware of how it didn’t fit with the vision that was playing itself out in front of his senses. He needed to shift it aside, to see past it and bring himself back into the picture. But as he reached for his own self, for his soul, he felt it being snatched from him, pulled further and further from his reach. Kane was renowned for his point man sense, his uncanny ability to detect things around him by the smallest of clues. Right now, only his point man sense gave any hint that the things he seemed to be experiencing within the asteroid were not real, that he was still in a cavern beneath the earth where a battle for his very soul was being fought. And Kane could not possibly know that he appeared to have already lost that battle, that his own soul was being absorbed by the woman called Maria Halloween, doubling her power.
I’m living somebody else’s life here, Kane told himself as the vision of the interior of the stone prison filled his mind, yet I can’t make it go away.
WITHIN THE CAVERN, the raven-haired form of Maria Halloween was glowing with fearsome power, sparking like a loose wire shot through with ten thousand volts.
Rosalia shielded her eyes with her raised left arm. In her right hand she clutched the katana sword, twenty-five inches of tempered steel glinting wildly as the sparkling form of the bruja reflected in its surface. Beside her, the scruffy dog peered up at Rosalia with its eerily pale eyes, head cocked as if in query. “I don’t know,” Rosalia admitted. “I don’t know what we ought to do, dammit.”
Two bright shafts of energy were blasting across the cavern, lighting the whole underground space like twin rivers of lightning, drawn to the witch woman from the withering bodies of Kane and Brigid. Kane lay slumped on the hard floor, his face dirty from where he had fallen against the earth there, his cheeks sinking as the very flesh of his body seemed to melt away. Across the cave, still standing on the blanket that the bruja had laid out, the familiar form of Brigid Baptiste was wrenched in pain, energy coursing over her strained form as it began to thin, becoming less of a woman and more just a skeleton. A wispy-haired blond girl was standing beside Brigid, her face displaying the same combination of puzzlement and obedience as Rosalia’s dog as she stared up at her companion struggling within the pillar of cascading energy.
Rosalia looked across the cave, the whole area becoming a stark contrast of light and shadow as the fierce glow from the bruja woman lit it. Other than Kane and Brigid, there were two more people in the wide cavern, both of whom were unconscious. The chalk-skinned form of Domi lay close to the edge of the amber-misted pit, her head slumped against the cool metal ring that surrounded the pit itself. Grant was also slumped over, posed at an awkward angle where he had been tossed against one of the rough rock walls, the Sin Eater still clutched in his right hand, a bloody cut glistening at his left temple.
They’re not going to be any help, Rosalia realized with irritation. So what now?
Attacking the witch was no use. She’d already shrugged off both Domi’s and Grant’s attacks, as well as Kane’s, and she’d proved herself impervious to knife and bullet while her body was cocooned inside that cascading blister of energy. Even as her mind raced, Rosalia was aware that the woman was amassing more power while both Brigid and Kane seemed to be withering, their skin becoming taut on their emaciating frames.
Which means, Rosalia realized, that it has to be now.
She glanced down at the dog, her lips pulling back from her teeth. “Come on, useless,” she instructed, “let’s go show this witch how it’s going down.”
With that, Rosalia began sprinting toward the witch woman with the ragged-looking dog hurrying along at her side. Sword raised, Rosalia dashed toward the woman standing between the wild beams of energy, and Maria Halloween seemed to become abruptly aware of her, turning her head to pierce Rosalia with a fearsome look.
Casually, Maria raised her left hand in a flicking gesture and sparks of the tremendous energy that had enwrapped her body burst forth, zapping across the cave toward the hurrying form of her new foe. Still sprinting, Rosalia ducked, letting the blast of energy rocket over her head, singeing several strands of her long hair as it shot toward the far wall. Rosalia didn’t bother to look at where the blast hit, but she heard it racking across the rocky wall like a lightning strike, stinging against the earth that clumped there and leaving a puff of inky-black smoke in its wake.
There was twenty feet between Rosalia and the glowing woman now, and Rosalia’s slender legs kicked out and ate the space at a distance-humbling sprint.
The bruja raised her hand again, fingers weaving in the air as she seemed to flick another of the lightning bolts at the woman with the sword. There was no escaping it—not at this proximity—and Rosalia raised her sword to deflect it. The blast hit the sword with the force of a jackhammer, knocking Rosalia back off her feet in a rolling crouch. For a moment trails of black energy continued to play across the twenty-five-inch blade, a plume of smoke emanating from its tip.
Rosalia righted herself, her eyes widening as the glowing woman seemed to become physically bigger. Halloween’s proportions became larger, more like a statue than a woman, her limbs thickening to the width of the branches of the redwoods outside her secret underground lair. At the same time, Kane and Brigid seemed to wither to little more than shades, thin shadowy things in the shape of human bodies, like a stretched photograph, an illusory thinness of body that could surely not possibly be real.
Before Rosalia could pull herself off the floor of the cave, another blast shot at her from the witch’s hand, a casual flick of the fingers launching that incredible burst of power. Rosalia raised the sword to try to deflect the blast, and she instinctively closed her eyes as the bolt of energy shot its blistering path toward her. At that very second, her scruffy-looking mongrel leaped straight into the jolt of energy, taking the full impact of the blast across its flank. Rosalia heard the dog whine with pain, and when she opened her eyes she saw the hound crash to the floor, the energy from the lightning-like bolt playing across its dark fur in fizzling white streaks.
“Good dog,” Rosalia encouraged as she pushed herself to her feet and began hurrying across the cavern once more, finally knowing what she must do. Behind her, the dog was whimpering as the energy of that blast pulsed through its body, and a strange double image seemed to appear, a second ghost dog expanding from the flesh of the first for a fraction of a second.
The bruja flicked her wrist once more as Rosalia charged, unleashing another bolt of that fearsome energy. But the dog was already on its feet, and it seemed to attract the soul-draining blast like a lightning rod. The bolt that had been meant for Rosalia forked to an angle, missing her by perhaps six inches as it grasped for the dog behind her. The dog stood there and took it, vibrating as those incredible energies played across its body. Once again, it seemed to double—and then triple as another ghost image expanded from within it.
Then Rosalia swung her katana blade, cutting into one of the streams of uncanny energy where it had snagged the fallen form of Kane. It was like striking rubber. Rosalia’s blade hit the lightninglike streak and bounced off, propelling her backward in a staggering, three-step dance. Gritting her teeth, she jabbed at the unfathomable stream of energy with her sword again, plunging the tip into the sparking line as it formed and re-formed in jagged stripes of yellow-white. This time her blade cut the stream, and the energies diverted, racing up Rosalia’s blade like a rushing river. The blast hit her with the force of a hurricane when it touched. Rosalia had her feet widespread as she felt the energy cascade down the blade and through her body, and she stood there, fighting against that exceptional force for almost three entire seconds. Then her feet slipped and, with a cry of agony, Rosalia was flung backward, hurtling up and over as she was launched ten feet into the air by the energy’s savage touch.
Nearby the bruja gasped. “No.”
Kane was lying on the ground where Rosalia had been standing moments before. Even in his delirious state, he felt the energy stop its relentless assault on his body as the woman’s sword cut into its stream, diverting it for three precious seconds and relieving him of its attack. His body seemed to fill out once more, its withered muscles inflating as the stream stopped pulling out his essence.
For Rosalia, however, it felt as if she had been struck by lightning as the energy was conducted by the sword and into her hands. Her whole body screamed with fire as she sailed through the air before crashing back to the ground, the sword still sparking in her grip. Witch fire licked across the sword’s shining surface, and when it had played out the blade had lost its luster, the jolt of energy turning the once-mirrored steel to the color of charcoal. Rosalia looked up as the sparking sword pulsed and shook in her hand, using all of her energy just to raise her weary head. And then she saw Kane rising as the darkness of exhaustion encroached on her vision, and she could only hope that what she had done had been enough.
WITH AN ANGRY SNARL, Kane raised himself off the ground as one of the fantastical streams of energy tried to target him again, emanating from the bruja’s expanding body. Kane sidestepped and the bolt blasted past him, lashing against one of the rough walls of the cavern. The bruja seemed now to stand fourteen feet tall, her edges blurring like some weird spirit, a vision from beyond. An expression of confusion turned to irritation as she saw Kane avoid the energy sucker that had been leeching his soul out of his frame.
Kane himself was still trying to recover from his own strange visions. He had lived four millennia in the space of two minutes, hurtling through space within a meteor, trapped as Ullikummis, the shamed Annunaki prince. With the draining fingers of energy removed, Kane began to return to himself, clinging to the last scraps of his own personality even as the fractured memories of Ullikummis played in the fields of his mind.
“Get the hell out of my head,” Kane grunted, struggling to see through the miasma of visions whirling in front of his eyes.
For a brief moment Kane assessed the area as his vision popped and shook, spying Brigid’s own emaciated form on the far side of the cavern and seeing the way the lightninglike chains of energy connected her to the woman who called herself Maria Halloween. Then he remembered, and then he clenched his fist and began to run, legs pumping, booted feet slapping against the packed soil of the ground as he hurried toward the fiercely glowing form of the bruja.
Maria Halloween turned her head to watch Kane, and it was an eerie thing to behold, like a stained-glass window come to life, multicolored rays of light bursting from her glowing form as she drained soul energy from Brigid Haight. Another streak of lightning emanated from the necklace at her breast, cutting through the air as it strove to reach for Kane’s essence. Kane leaped it, bringing his fist around to strike the woman in her gut—as high as he could reach on her expanding form. There came a blinding burst of energy as Kane’s fist connected, and the jewel that the woman wore at her neck let out a quiet sound like a sigh, a wisp of vapor spiraling from its apex. The bruja rocked back with Kane’s blow, the crackling shield of energy humming all around her as it blinked off then back on again.
Kane’s hand throbbed, and he felt the skin rip from his knuckles where he had struck the witch with all his might. Spots of blood bloomed across his knuckles, and at the same time something deep inside Kane swelled and something returned to him that he had been missing just seconds before.
Kane stepped back, weaving on buoyant feet like a boxer in the ring, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the spirit-like colossus in front of him. As he watched, the bruja seemed to shrink just a little, fourteen feet becoming twelve in height, the fierce glow surrounding her losing some of its magnificence, its heavenly luster. Kane himself seemed to grow bigger at the same time, his muscles filling out once more, the flesh swelling back over his ribs, filling the skintight material of the shadow suit.
Without pausing, Kane ran at the bruja again, striking her at the base of her rib cage with a left cross, a right, another left. The energy shield around her flashed and failed, and the woman known as Maria Halloween stumbled back, her body shrinking, returning to its normal proportions. Something was glowing beneath her dress, a flame sparking between her breasts where the pendant of her necklace dangled.
“You fool,” Maria cried. “You’ve disrupted the flow, cut my link to your soul.”
Spots blurring across his eyes, Kane kicked out at the woman, striking a savage blow to her gut, just below that glowing speck on her dress. The witch woman seemed to fold over the toe of Kane’s boot, blurting out a gasp of breath as she tumbled backward to the cavern floor, coming to rest at the edge of the blanket concealing the parallax point. Kane commanded his Sin Eater to his palm and watched her as she reached a hand to her breast even as the spark turned to a flame. The strange succubus gemstone was burning, its eerie procedure halted with a violent abruptness it had not been designed to endure.
The cavern shook as transtemporal energies washed through it, hurtling from the smoky glass of the gem and batting at the fragile structure of the caverns. All around Kane, the sounds of tumbling earth echoed as the place began to cave in, the fragile crack in the earth collapsing in on itself, sealing this wide bank of caverns once more out of sight of the surface dwellers.
Shuddering on the cavern floor, Maria Halloween pulled at the stone that she wore, snapping the necklace. But it was too late—her flesh seared with flames and she lay there, a pillar of fire in human form. Exhausted, all Kane could do was watch as oily black smoke poured from her body and the stench of burning flesh filled the crumbling cavern. He was an ex-Mag; it was his job to save people. Yet, at that moment, his weary essence bruised and battered, it was all he could do to stand, the torn skin of his knuckles bleeding.
All around Kane, hunks of moist earth came crashing down, sealing the last of the passageways that led into this cave, cutting it off from any further interference by man.
Within moments, Maria Halloween’s body became ashes, rising and flaking away amid the oily black smoke that plumed from her flesh. The strange soul stone had been associated with vampirism before now, sucking at the essence of people until they had no will of their own. Here, too, the old myths of vampires seemed to echo, the bearer of the gem turned to ashes when the procedure to gain power failed.
And, as suddenly as it had started, it was over—the twin lances of energy that had fired from Maria’s body disappeared. The energy cage that held Brigid Haight winked out of existence, and the redhead took a single half step back onto the heels of her boots, relief painting across her pale face as the flesh returned to her bones.
“Briggly?” Little Quav asked timidly. “Is the monster gone?”
Whatever it was that the witch woman had planned, Kane couldn’t be sure it was actually evil. She had spoken of doing good, of employing change, even if her means of getting power—by stealing the anam-chara souls—seemed destructive. Perhaps it hadn’t been—perhaps it had been the reason that the connected souls existed in the first place, to be funneled together and thus create a god of man.
Breathless, Kane swayed in place as he assessed everything around him. His partners were out of it, but there at last was Brigid Baptiste, standing beside Quavell’s daughter. “Baptiste,” Kane gasped, “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d lost you forev—”
