It doesn't help that Frito (Chip's daughter), Smoke and Ash (Jet and Ebony's progeny), and Queen Latifah (Rusty and Lady Gaga's offspring) have decided that my flower beds are good places to store their victuals. I don't want to spoil the chipmunks and squirrels' fun. Nor Jane Doe and daughter's delight on chomping on my ferns and other greenery.
However, I can't blame the critters for everything. Spring flowers came and went early, and the irises are blooming a month ahead of schedule, so I need to get cracking.
Enjoy this last little preview of Death Goddess Walking!
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The mot are the worst of Apep’s sins. Neither spirit nor material being, they live only to pollute the souls of our mortal children. – The Lost Books of Selket, Djehuti’s Library at Akasha
An hour later, Nettie gave up on convincing the twins of who and what they allegedly were. She nagged Reyna until the medical resident agreed to go back to the hospital to play junior sleuth concerning the mot demon inhabiting Jim Gorman. Billie wasn’t sure what the pair would accomplish, but she had been too tired and too hungry to argue. Any energy from the sweet roll had long since dissipated with all the talking.
After the day Billie had, she splurged and ordered a pizza while Kyra went up to her room to change clothes. Dinner arrived just before Kyra jogged downstairs. Billie nudged the pizza box across the coffee table toward Kyra as her housemate flopped on the other end of the couch.
“How’s Brittany Johnson really doing?” Billie asked between bites.
Kyra swallowed a huge mouthful of cheese and pepperoni before answering. “As well as can be expected. They’ve got her on bed rest and observation since she’s at thirty-six weeks, but it doesn’t look like the baby was hurt in the fall. Other than that, she’s scared shitless. Her step-son’s attorney tried to kill her.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug as she took another bite.
Billie relaxed against the arm of the couch and gave a small laugh. “I’m impressed Reyna finagled a shift in the maternity ward, but I’m glad one of us is keeping an eye on her.”
One of us.
Damn, she was already thinking of their bizarre little group in terms of “us” versus “them”.
“The joys of residency. Trust me, with the hours we pull, anybody is ecstatic to get some extra ‘zzzz’s if they can.” Kyra swigged root beer from her can. “She didn’t have a problem getting someone to trade shifts.”
Years ago, Billie would have prayed for the widow out of the habits instilled by her super-religious grandmother. But now? Who the hell does a goddess, or the living statue of a Neteru, pray to?
Kyra eyed Billie over the pizza slice while she absently picked off mushrooms and tossed them on the pizza box lid. “What’s your take on the mumbo jumbo the professor spouted about us being the protectors of these special kids?”
Billie opened her mouth, but what could she add that Nettie hadn’t already covered? It’d help if she could remember things like Nettie and Porter claimed they did. And it wasn’t just the Johnson baby she worried about. She hadn’t had a chance to go back to the graveyard and check on Marcus or the other dead children. “I think there’s some truth there I don’t fully understand.”
Kyra watched her, an odd look on the twin’s face. Finally, she swallowed and said, “I can see them, too.”
Why was it everyone around her seemed to be able to read her mind? Billie’s mouth lost all moisture, and she had to take a sip of her Diet Coke before answering. “See who?”
An embarrassed smile twitched the corners of Kyra’s lips. “I figured out your secret back in April, the night you stumbled by the main gate of Hess Cemetery as we were out running. When the little girl in the old-fashioned dress poked her head through the fence and waved at you.
Billie’s mouth fell open. She’d played off Kyra’s teasing about a ghost scaring her during their evening jog. “You knew? You could see Sarah Jane?”
Kyra laughed, a much softer sound than normal. “Yeah. I was hoping I could talk to you about it, but you blew me off, so…” She shrugged.
“I-I’m sorry. I—” Tears filled her eyes at her own childhood traumas. The weirdness, the schoolyard taunts thanks to attending a grade school next door to the town cemetery, Grandma dragging her to a backwoods hoodoo woman to purge the devil within her. What would have happened if they succeeded, if there really was a piece of Selket within her and they drove it out? Would she have died, been a vegetable, what?
Blinking back the moisture threatening to leak from her eyes, she dragged air deep into her lungs and released it, trying to expel her personal, and very human, demons. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Kyra held up her palm. “It’s in the past.” Her old evil grin was back in place. “And you’re avoiding my question, counselor.”
Another deep breath as she really considered Kyra’s original question about Nettie. “It’s like something out of the Twilight Zone, but after killing a monster that eats ghosts and the thing inside Gorman trying to stab me—” She took another sip from her can of cola. “It feels…true. Does that even make sense?”
Kyra nodded as she tossed another mushroom on the box lid. A thoughtful look passed across her features. “Why isn’t there any adult ghosts at Hess? I’ve seen them other places.”
Billie set her empty paper plate on the coffee table. Kyra seemed so accepting of the weirdness. The last thing Billie wanted was to freak her roommate out even more.
Kyra’s slippered foot nudged her calf. “C’mon. Spill.”
“Have you seen things other than ghosts at a cemetery or where someone’s died?”
Kyra’s brown eyes widened. “Yes.” Her voice came out with a hiss. “Black things with talons.” She swallowed hard. “Like shadows. I saw two of them prowling around the grounds at my grandfather’s interment.”
Billie shrugged. Too bad shoving off the memories of her mother’s fate wasn’t as easy. “They’re soul eaters. If a ghost doesn’t follow its guide to the afterlife, he or she becomes fair game. There’s a soul-eater that prowls the university area.” A wry smile tugged her lips. “If you’re a predator, would you go after the small, smart, quick prey or the big, dumb, slow ones?”
Kyra nodded. “Makes sense. Kids believe monsters exist and run.” She took another bite, chewing as she worked up another question from the look on her face.
Heavy pounding on the front door echoed through the old Victorian. Billie sat up at the same instant as Kyra, though she was sure her housemate’s muscles didn’t ache from the effort. They peeked through the curtains behind the couch. A familiar silhouette stood under the front porch light.
She shot Kyra a look. “What’s Officer Houlihan doing here?”
The medical examiner’s fine black eyebrows knitted in a frown. “And why would the police come here this late at night?”
Billie added it together and came up with one sorry jackal. “Shit. They caught Porter running around without a collar.” She climbed to her feet as fast as her bruised body allowed. Too bad the twins wouldn’t cross the ethical line and write a stronger prescription for her. The ibuprofen barely took the edge off the pain from getting her ass knocked around the last few days.
It seemed all she did was limp from one destination to another lately. Another round of impatient knocking rattled the door.
“Hold your horses,” she muttered, but she plastered on a smile anyway. No sense antagonizing the cop until she rescued Porter from whatever trouble he got himself into. She whipped the door open.
It wasn’t the standard issue firearm Houlihan aimed at her forehead that caused the pizza to lurch in her stomach.
It was Houlihan’s red eyes.
A blur of black and a clap of thunder sent her stumbling backward. Ankles crashed into stairs, and she fell. Her hip bone struck the edge of a step, and the joint screamed in agony again.
Kyra followed her umbrella strike to the cop’s hand with quick thrusts to the temple and solar plexus before slamming the front door on the poor lady’s face and flipping the lock in one smooth motion. “Come on!” She whirled, dropped the umbrella back in the canister next to the door, and jerked Billie to her feet.
Adrenaline kicked in and she raced after Kyra. They flew down the hallway and through the kitchen. She plowed into her roommate when Kyra struggled to unlock and open the back door.
A loud pop splintered the wooden doorframe inches from Kyra’s head as they plunged into frigid night.
Ducking would have been a good idea. Instinct had other plans. Billie dove for the box that stored the gardening tools, fingers curling around a hand spade.
Kyra vaulted over the porch’s half-wall, drawing the gunfire. Taking advantage of their opponent’s distraction, Billie slipped through the broken trellis railing covered by Nettie’s rose bushes. The thorny arms parted, leaving not a scratch on her abused flesh. She couldn’t think about the weirdness, not now. Instead, she focused on the flashes coming from behind the ancient oak at the rear of the lot.
More gunfire shredded brittle bark as Kyra dived behind the tiny grape arbor.
A dead run brought Billie to Officer Burns, his eyes burning scarlet in the dark. Before the possessed policeman could turn his weapon on her, she slammed his head into the century-old trunk. The hand spade sliced through the heavy insulated jacket sleeve before it buried into the oak’s bark, trapping the cop’s arm. The gun hit the dead grass with a muffled thud.
The oak wailed at its injury. Acid burned the back of Billie’s throat. Dammit, she shouldn’t be able to hear things like that. An eerie cry joined with the old tree’s keening. She stepped back, yanking the tiny spade out of the trunk. Burns collapsed, but something oozed and twisted under his skin. Red runnels dripped from his pores, through his clothes, and collected on the dead grass under his body. She took another step back. The mass congealed, like old blood trying to form something it had no right to be.
Lightning filled her veins, drawing electricity from the ground, not the sky. When the power seemed on the verge of exploding every cell in her body, she plunged the hand spade into the mass. It screamed and thrashed, reaching for her skin. She jerked out the reach of its tendrils.
She and her roommates were too damn vulnerable in human form. Her muscles flinched at that thought.
Kyra yanked her away from the injured officer and the dying horror. “Come on!”
In answer to her housemate’s panic, another bullet chipped oak bark in front of her nose. She crouched and crawled after Kyra toward the twin’s car. The Porsche’s alarm system beeped over Houlihan’s shots.
She scrambled into the passenger seat. Kyra already had the engine revving. Gravel and bullets pinged against the detached garage as the car peeled down the alley.
Billie’s lungs demanded that she breathe again. She clutched the armrest and looked over her shoulder. “What the hell just happened?”
“I’d say an attempted hit by our otherworldly friends. Did you see the cops’ eyes?” Kyra shuddered as she shifted gears. Tires squealed against asphalt. “Buckle up. I don’t need you flying through my windshield.”
Billie reached for the buckle, her arm trembling so much she had trouble latching the damn thing. Kyra reached over and jammed the buckle into place, running a red light in the process.
“Where are you going?”
“Not to the police, that’s for damn sure.” Kyra’s face scowled under the faint light coming from the dashboard. The speedometer arrowed past any reasonable safe zone. “We need to hide you and the Johnson chick.”
The shakes began in earnest. Billie clutched her arms around her chest, trying to stem them.
“You okay?” Kyra flicked a concerned look at her before weaving around a delivery truck.
“No. It happened when I killed that thing in the cemetery. Not this bad though.” The words made no sense with her teeth chattering, but she knew with a scary certainty she had screwed up. Big time.
“Hang on. We’re almost to the hospital.”
Damn. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was alcohol withdrawal. The feeling reminded her too much of her foster father’s behavior the one time he’d tried to kick the habit. Cramps twisted her gut.
A gentle hand pushed her back against the seat. Whimpers filled the car. It took a minute to realize it was her.
Beside her, honking blasted through the compartment. Kyra’s form blurred and sharpened before she realized the other woman talked on her cell phone. Worry and fear tinged the twin’s voice, but Billie couldn’t concentrate enough to make out Kyra’s words.
The Porsche shot through the parking garage reserved for the medical staff and slammed to a halt near the elevator. Billie’s body whipped forward. The seatbelt’s hold kept her forehead from hitting the dash.
Fear crawled through her nerves. She had no freaking control of any muscle now. Hell, she couldn’t even blink. Her head lolled to the right. The car dipped as Kyra climbed out. She reappeared in Billie’s line of sight as she raced over to the elevator and pressed the ‘Down’ button.
Screams damned up in Billie’s throat. She wanted to yell, “Don’t leave me!” Her lips and tongue refused to form the actual sounds. Her terror was a physical thing sitting on her chest, crushing the air from tender tissue.
Kyra banged on the doors of the elevator, panic in her voice as she yelled into the phone, now in her hand. The sounds bounced around the concrete beams and careened off the handful of vehicles parked in this level. Billie’s heart hammered double-time to the echoes.
Finally, the doors parted. Reality shifted and bent. Porter and Reyna appeared, but they were two-dimensional, as if she were watching them on a TV screen. Reality snapped back into place, and the pair stepped out of the elevator. Kyra pointed at the Porsche, and the three ran to the car, but Porter disappeared from her vision.
“Love, stay with us.” His words. She had the impression he held her hand, but there was no warmth, no pressure, nothing.
The twins she could see. Reyna placed fingers against Billie’s neck, but again, she couldn’t feel Reyna’s touch.
Kyra peered over her sister’s shoulder. “I think that thing in the cop poisoned her.”
“No.” Amusement colored Porter’s voice.
This wasn’t funny, dammit. She was dying.
“She pulled too much of her own power into her human body while breaking the mot’s hold on the policeman. A shabti can’t handle that kind of energy load.”
Reyna checked Billie’s eyes with a clinical dispassion. “Her pulse is two hundred and climbing.”
“You two stay back. I need to drain the excess energy.”
Reyna nodded at Porter’s instructions and stepped back. Feather-soft warmth stole over Billie, little cat’s paws kneading feeling back into her very cells. The paralysis trickled from her nerves. The trickle turned to a gush, then a torrent. The weight lifted from her ribs, and she gasped, relishing the cool air.
Finally, she could lift her head from its neck-kinked position. “Oh, god, I thought I was going to die.”
Porter chuckled.
She wanted to smack him and hug him at the same time. “What happened?” The weakness in her voice didn’t improve her mood.
“From what Kyra described, Officers Houlihan and Burns were possessed by mot demons.” This time, his gold eyes flamed with anger, not his ever-present warped humor. “Since you had to improvise a weapon, you accidentally pulled too much power. If Kyra hadn’t gotten you here in time, you would have fried your own brain.”
“How am I supposed to know how to do this right?”
“You should already know. Goes back to our original problem. How’d Apep block our memories in the first place?” He grimaced. “Can you walk?”
She nodded and swung her legs out of the car, relishing the feeling of bare toes on cold concrete. Looking down, she blinked in surprise. How the heck had she not noticed her naked feet while running around the back yard?
Because two possessed cops were determined to put a bullet through your brain, the little voice in the back of her head said.
Standing up met a new standard of endurance though, and she fell back against the frame of the Porsche.
Kyra grabbed Billie’s right arm and slung it over her own shoulder. “Don’t you dare scratch my paint job.”
Billie couldn’t flip an obscene gesture at Kyra because Reyna had leveraged Billie’s left arm around her neck. Needing the help rankled Billie, but she wouldn’t have made it to the elevator without the twins’ assistance.
Porter pressed the button, and the doors slid apart. He glanced back at the three women. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of each other.” He reached for Reyna’s free hand, but she jerked back.
Billie swallowed hard against the vertigo from Reyna’s sharp motion. “Please don’t do that again.”
Reyna scowled at Porter. “Oh, hell no! You cannot make me do your freaky shortcut thing! We are taking the elevator like normal people.”
Porter glared back at her. “We don’t have time to debate this. If mot have infiltrated the police, they can just as easily possess the hospital staff and send the elevator into freefall.”
Another round of vertigo threatened Billie’s equilibrium. She closed her eyes to stop the garage from spinning. “He’s right, Reyna. We need to get Brittany out of the hospital now.” Half-afraid of finding out what else Porter had in his bag of tricks, she gritted her teeth and forced her eyes open. “Do it.”
A resigned sigh blew from Reyna’s lips, and she clasped Porter’s outstretched hand. He stepped into the elevator.
And disappeared.
A gasp forced itself from Billie’s lips. Reyna’s handless arm seemed to hang in space until she followed, dragging Billie along. Before she could fight, Kyra pushed forward. Reality itself popped. Ice shot into her lungs as she inhaled. The cold blackness terrified her more than the paralysis a few minutes earlier. It wasn’t normal Ohio winter cold. This was a sensation that penetrated bones and froze marrow. The dark side of the moon would have been warmer than this.
When she was sure she’d never be warm again, desert air blasted her face. She blinked at the twilight surrounding them. Her heart thrummed at the familiar cliffs rising before her. Something deep in her heart leapt with joy.
Home.
A statue of Anubis stood to her left, the only thing on the landscape besides the four of them. The stone figure was similar to the one at the Tut exhibit Kyra had dragged her to see. Too similar. The carved obsidian gleamed in the weird light. Gold and lapis lazuli decorated the headdress, armbands, belt, and sandals. He carried a staff molded from the same obsidian as his flesh. But instead of gold, the kilt on the statue looked like real linen cloth.
She looked up. Topaz eyes commanded her attention. Gems glittered in those sockets, staring at her. She stared back.
The statue winked.
Then the cold slammed her harder than the first time. Another pop and stale, antiseptic hospital air filled her nose.
Billie looked around the little room. A refrigerator hummed a soft tune in counterpoint to the CNN commentator’s drone on the TV bolted to the opposing wall. The small table in the middle was accompanied by four uncomfortable-looking chairs. A glance behind her showed Kyra stepping out of the open closet.
A closet that had no freaking room to hold one person, much less four.
Shelving filled the little pantry-style storage space. Extra paper towels, Styrofoam cups, coffee filters and non-dairy creamer took up most of the area.
Before she could question the utter lack of regard for the laws of physics, the twins carried her to the vinyl-covered couch. She sank down, grateful to be off her feet. The psychedelic trip through the elevator and closet with the weird in-between stop left her exhausted.
Kyra stepped over to the window set in the other door and peered out into the hallway. “We’re clear.” Dammit, she didn’t even question what just happened. When she turned around, Billie’ heart jammed in her throat. Something very dark and very ancient looked through the twin’s eyes despite her usual shit-ass grin.
Before she could say anything, Kyra marched to the water cooler and filled a paper cup. “Billie needs wheels. Our cars will be traced thanks to the incident at the house. Who’s on duty tonight?” She pressed the cup into Billie’s hand.
Water sloshed when she tried to drink, and Kyra’s hand guided the rim to her lips. Frustration brought tears to her eyes as she sipped. Damn, she hated feeling helpless.
A smile spread across Reyna’s face, so similar to Kyra’s mischief-promising one that a shiver ran down Billie’s spine. “Raj. He’ll be here at least fourteen hours on a delivery.”
The shiver reversed course and shot back up Billie’s spine. Reyna’s talent for predicting the length of a delivery had won her the maternity ward pool more than once. Now, she wondered how much of her housemate’s ability was supernatural talent.
Reyna’s expression twisted with concern. “Billie’s in no shape to drive.”
“Quit talking like I’m not here.” She leaned forward, gingerly testing muscles. The stunt with the hand shovel had left a new layer on pain on top of the previous aches. “And Reyna’s right.” Acid burned in her gut at the admission. She’d always been able to take care of herself. But now, they were talking about two other lives.
“I’ll go with her. I’m her backup.” Porter’s eyes bore into her soul.
The connection sparked, then flared. She had no doubt he’d sacrifice himself to save her, just as she had for him. She wanted, needed, to pray things wouldn’t come to that, but she had absolutely no idea from whom she was asking for that favor. Then reality crashed into place through the odd thoughts.
She shook her head. The dizziness wasn’t as bad as in the garage. “Wait. We can’t take Brittany from here. What if she goes into labor?”
Kyra arched an eyebrow. “You’ll have to deal. Neither of you can stay here. You’ll both be sitting ducks.”
Billie glared back. “Quack.”
Ignoring her smartass comment, Kyra dug into her pockets. “I’ve got a couple of twenties. What do the rest of you have?”
Billie winced. Her purse, along with her driver’s license, were sitting on the kitchen counter back at the house. Dodging possessed cops shooting at her and Kyra had been more of a priority at the time.
Another worry slammed home. Her hunting knife was still under the pillow on her bed. No doubt Columbus’s finest would be searching the house after she attacked a police officer. Claiming self-defense from a demon-possessed cop wasn’t going to cut it with any judge in Franklin County.
Reyna moved to a nearby steel locker and twisted in the combination. “I can hit the ATM in the lobby while you get Brittany. I’ll meet you in the parking garage.”
The vertigo had faded, and Billie carefully climbed to her feet. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
Reyna shot her a wry smile. “When you’re steadier on your feet, then you can argue.”
Unfortunately, her housemate was right. The swaying of the room grew worse now that she was upright. Porter grabbed her as she started to slide to the floor. “The Guinness Book doesn’t have a record for the most non-fatal injuries.” He guided her back to the ugly couch.
She caught his eye. “Maybe one of you should go with Brittany instead. I can’t do anything in this state.”
White light blinded her, and Cyrus Johnson’s voice filled the tiny staff room. “Oh no, missy. You’re not getting out of this. You screwed it up. You’re fixing it by saving my wife and unborn son.”
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