Something About Witches (Arcane Shot #1)

“Hold fast,” Ruby ordered. “Concentrate. Remember, just follow my lead.”

So many of the ancient spells, potions and rituals of witchcraft had been built on the domestic craft of women, things of hearth and home. The Weaving Chant was one of those. As she began to call out the words in Old English, she made the shuttle movement with her hands, a sign language to bring the coven members quickly into the focus with her, without having to do a lot of explaining. Body language also intensified the magic.

Her hands rose and fell rapidly, aiming that focus and intent at the weak point of the fault line, the darkness she could feel expanding from it like a swelling boil. Their hands flashed, the three women emulating her, growing more confident with it, as women did when they had something tangible to do. As that confidence grew, she could see energy building, swirling around the three of them as they transitioned from simple imitation into channeling that weaving energy together, feeding it to her so she could aim it where it was needed.

Damn it. That boil had gotten too big, too fast. Miriam screamed as the ground erupted at her Quarter. It was outside the circle, but so close the girl recoiled instinctively, stumbling back several steps. A cloud of smoke spewed forth, billowing up like a dragon spreading its wings, wings that surrounded the circle in a heartbeat, doming over it to seal them in darkness. Crimson light was the only illumination, flickering in the swirling wall like eyes of hellhounds. There was the flash of fangs, low growls.

“Illumina,” Ruby snapped again, throwing light across the interior of the circle before their panic became part of the choking, foul energy closing in on them like a coffin. Miriam was frozen and pale as new snow. Christine and Linda held their positions, but the energy they were raising was now all defensive. What they’d drawn up to reinforce the fault line faltered, sensibly diverting to reinforce the circle and their own protection. Hissing and low growls started to emanate from that blackness, rattling the women further.

The widening of that fault line rift felt as if it were happening beneath Ruby’s very feet, though it was a stone’s throw away. The beings wouldn’t come out right beneath the circle; that held too much residual Light energy. But they could use intimidation tactics to turn strength into fear, use the converted energy to feed their own purposes instead. They’d keep the witches inert in their own circle, cowering in their shelter while they freed themselves. Well, the hell with that. She’d worked with the coven a week and knew these women wouldn’t stand for that. Not if they got past this moment.

“Miriam.” Ruby caught her arm, used the pinch of her short nails to yank her attention from that pitch-black cover over them and glimpses of what was milling in it. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. Focus.” Jerking her to the circle’s edge, Ruby positioned her halfway between the Fire and Air Quarters, and gestured Christine to take a similar position between Fire and Water. “You know the peace symbol?”

At Miriam’s blank look, Ruby caught the necklace right beneath the girl’s whimsical cat pentacle, tugged, held it up. It was a piece of costume jewelry, the metal tie-dyed to reflect the sixties period, but the power of a symbol wasn’t merely in its material; it was the belief in its pure purpose.

“It’s not a random design. Not just about nuclear disarmament or Goya’s peasant before the firing squad. There’s a deeper meaning. You can hold the circle at these three points, you understand? But you have to be strong. You have to get in the game and send energy to that hole. There is only this moment, and what you do with it. You understand?”

She’d closed Miriam’s hand over the symbol, her own hand clamped over it. She kept her feet planted, her body rigid, as she held the integrity of the circle. Thank Heaven Christine and Linda were still at least 70 percent in the game, because Ruby couldn’t do it alone, not and put this much intent and focus in the conversation. Flame flickered through the darkness, the flash of glistening fangs. She held Miriam’s gaze, though, waiting precious seconds for Miriam to regroup. Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.

Miriam’s jaw tightened, and her gaze swept to the other two women, then back to Ruby. The perimeter reinforcement increased exponentially.

“That’s it.” Ruby squeezed her, firm approval. Miriam adjusted her stance, fully anchoring herself to the spot in the circle Ruby had indicated. The power flow from Christine and Linda connected to her, and Ruby felt them take over control of the circle boundary.

“Good. Close your eyes,” Ruby ordered all of them. “None of what’s happening around you matters. Hold the circle’s perimeter, but focus on that fault line. Do the chant; keep it going; keep weaving it closed. Doesn’t matter how often it breaks; keep doing it. Don’t let anything distract you.”

Moving to Linda, she put her hand on her shoulder to lean in, speak low in her ear. “I’m stepping out of the circle to push these bastards back. They’re not all the way free, but they’re aboveground. When I get them below the fault line, you need to be ready to seal the lid. Got it? Do you feel it? Know where it is?”

Linda nodded, a quick jerk, though Ruby sensed her doubt that leaving the circle was the right thing. However, Linda’s concerns weren’t her major worry right now. If anything made it all the way out of the fault line, became fully corporeal, they’d have a much bigger fight on their hands, and Ruby wasn’t sure they could hold the circle against a fully concentrated Underworld attack. Not for their very first time.

Despite all her resolve and knowledge, she was scared, too. And what they were dealing with right now was up there with Freddy Krueger, Jason and Michael, all wrapped up into one.

She didn’t look back. Shoring up her own personal defenses, strengthening her shields, she stepped out of the circle between Christine and Linda. The black smoke swallowed her immediately.

LIGHT ENERGY WAS A FORMIDABLE WEAPON IN THE hands of those who knew how to use it. Even in the hands of advanced students, such as Linda, it could do a lot when there was time and focus to build it. In the hands of confident, advanced magic users, ones like Derek, it could turn bullets to flowers before they even left the chamber.

Right now, though, Derek wasn’t here, and they needed zero to one hundred speed reaction time. She could provide that, but she couldn’t avail herself of the protection of their circle, couldn’t pull them into that. What she was about to do would disrupt and unbalance their energy, and her first priority was getting them out of this alive and unharmed. To do that, she had to make sure that threat was contained, by whatever methods necessary. Being on the outside, there was the added plus that she was drawing the demons’ fire, and the circle could focus on strengthening the fault line.

Damn it, she wasn’t supposed to be doing the fighting. Derek, next time I see you, I’m going to punch you in the mouth.

Shit, there were three of them. Outside the circle, she could feel their form and substance, the way they swirled around her, creatures of ash and fire. Soul-eaters, the carrion of the Underworld. Not so powerful, when all was said and done, but they made up for that in numbers, deception ability and their sheer bogeyman-in- the-closet fear factor. Many lower-echelon creatures of the Underworld appeared as an odd assortment of parts— horse heads, goat legs, body of a man, engorged privates, large fangs. Their sole purpose was fear, and they fed on it. They could be strengthened and sometimes even spawned by people’s fear of the dark and shadows, but once created, could not be dispelled, a self-fulfilling prophecy. One could create the monster in one’s closet, a frightening thought.

It was part of why she’d often used the Sarah Williams quote to go to sleep at night: Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. And of course the poem from which it came, “The Old Astronomer,” had been an inspiration for her own studies in and of itself. It inspired her now. She had the knowledge to do this, the will and the power, damn it.

The soul-eaters were all pumped up, sure of their victory now, because they were nearly free. But they were too eager, like rats tunneling out of holes in truth. The opening was still too small for them and yet they were trying to squeeze free, which left their attention divided, making them more vulnerable. She had a precious few more moments, but she told herself that was all she needed. Particularly when she caught a whiff of something that put everything else away— fear for the coven, fear of failure, any concerns about anything beyond this.

Asmodeus. Not him directly, no, but these creatures were part of his army, his minions. She knew the smell of that energy, had nightmares about it. At the trade shows, which didn’t have the same spells she maintained on her gun shop to repel certain types of visitors, she sometimes sensed it from some of the fringe participants. Evil had a base smell, an ingredient that infected all its recipes. That was fine. Right now, she wanted to smell that smell, wanted to be fully aware of the shape and substance of that energy. Use her rage against it to dispel her fear.

Chanting the words, she began drawing in deep breaths, oxygenating her muscles and internal organs, preparing them for the load they were about to bear. Sensing the impending threat, the darkness closed around her, the soul-eaters trying to press their searing heat so close they would cook her inside the barrier of her own defenses if she let them seep in through the pores.

She didn’t. When she opened her eyes, one was staring at her, red eyes inches from her face. Her stomach was tied in knots, but her feet were anchored in the earth.

“Boo, you son of a bitch,” she said, baring her teeth. Lifting her arms out to her sides, slow, deliberate, like a kung fu master drawing in energy, she curled her fingers and began to rotate her left wrist, slow, a winding dial to gather energy to her. The energy of the creatures trying their best to crush her.

While she did that, she began to rotate the right wrist. With that hand, she pulled in energy from the circle and from the fault line. Light energy. Once again, the domestic arts took precedence. As she brought the two strands together, she started braiding them, turning her body clockwise to wind it around her, using herself as a spool. The heat was getting intense, burning her skin despite the protection around her. She could smell the putrid scent of rotting souls, of death, hopelessness and decay, of everything that life was beneath the surface, and sometimes not beneath the surface at all.