Part 10 (1/2)
”Love spells?” She snorted. ”Those things never work.”
”I've seen them work very well indeed. It's getting them to stop once they're up and running that's the big problem.” I was more or less quoting Terrin. We stocked harmless love charms at the shop. I say harmless since Terrin always neutralized what he sold to infatuated girls and h.o.r.n.y guys. It was an honor thing with him. That kind of emotional coercion and manipulation rankled the h.e.l.l out of him. If something did happen between the caster and the castee it would have happened anyway, was meant to happen.
Love is its own magic, after all, but none of the lovelorn customers were ready to believe that. Everybody wants an edge. Filima looked a little wobbly all of a sudden, putting a hand to her forehead.
”Anything wrong?” I asked.
”I get like this in here. Scrying gives me headaches.”
”You're not scrying, though.”
”The incense, then. I'm sure I'm allergic to it.”
The leftover stink of whatever she used was pretty strong. ”You need to switch brands.”
”But that's the kind you have to use for scrying.”
”Who told you that? Never mind, there's others that work just as well you might not be allergic to. Nag Champa is a good all-purpose one, and it smells the same burning or not. . . .”
She'd stopped listening to my sales pitch, which was a leftover habit from when I helped out at Terrin's shop, and stared down at the surface of the dark mirror. ”Something's coming through. That's never happened before, not unless I'm initiating it.”
Now I stared at the mirror. Its polished surface did seem to be s.h.i.+fting, reminding me too much of that black fog of the h.e.l.l-river only this time in red. ”Maybe we should leave.”
”No, I must see. Perhaps your presence has set off some magic.”
I had solid doubts about that, but was curious. She sat on the stool, and I kibitzed over her shoulder. It was hard to concentrate with the scent of flowers coming off her hair. From my vantage point I not only saw the mirror, but had a wonderful grandstand view down the front of her low-cut dress.
Oh, baby!
What a perfect spot: I could stare at those beauties all I wanted-so long as I didn't drop any drool on them.
”There!” she exclaimed, leaning forward.
d.a.m.n, she'd blocked my view.
”Do you see it?”
Reluctantly, I transferred my attention. The blood-red fog roiled and boiled, and though I first thought it my imagination, there seemed to be a form emerging from the mess. The image was distracting enough to take my mind off appreciation of Filima's hypnotic figure.
A man's face s.h.i.+vered in and out, like looking through moving layers of smoked gla.s.s. He was no one I knew, just the usual collection of eyes, brows, nose and mouth . . . but somehow he was very, very wrong .
Sulfur? Why was there a whiff of that in the air? Or was it just rotten eggs? It came and went, replaced by the stink of something putrid and festering, which also whipped away, stirred by the wind-a hot windthat should not have been in this small, completely enclosed area.
The candle went out, but light remained, coming from the mirror. It originatedfrom it, absolutely was not a reflection.
All my back hairs were up, and yes, my spine began to arch outward. Instinct from my cat DNA boomed a red alert at full force; it wanted meaway from there. My human side fought it, trying to see more. The conflict caused me to hiss, actually hiss.
The face in the mirror came closer, the mouth open and working in a scream or a curse. It seemed to touch the surface and begin to raise itself up, a three-dimensional thing trying to squeeze its way through.
The light-now turned pale green like from a rotting corpse-flowed from the mirror, bathing Filima.
Black specks tumbled in the glimmer. They spun around her head, then swirled down to the emerging face. Its mouth yawned wide to receive them.
Filima's eyes rolled up in her head, and she slumped forward with a soft moan.
Elsewhere in Rumpock Terrin hoped to gawd he was on the right street this time. Every twisty-turny way in this h.e.l.lhole looked alike to him now, and they all seemed to be uphill, even the downhill ones.
He staggered along like a drunk, keeping his legs under him only by an act of concentrated will. The air was way too thin to breathe; his lungs worked overtime and then some. Sweat ran freely down his face, but he s.h.i.+vered with cold. People hastily got out of his path. Maybe they thought he had plague or something. Good and fine. No one offered to help. That was fine, too. It would have delayed him, and he couldn't afford a delay. He had to get to shelter-magical shelter.
The bell tower, yes, there it was, useful landmark. But what direction was it from Clem's inn . . . from . . . somewhere . . . um . . . someplace. . . .
The thought slipped from his head. Dammit.
Where was he?Tower .Move .
He plunged toward it, running a few steps, slowing to gulp air, running a few more. What if he couldn't make it to the inn? Had to consider that possibility. Just getting under any old roof wasn't the problem, he had to be in a s.h.i.+elded area. Those weren't too common. The ones he'd sensed were weak, nothing compared to the safe zone he'd set up . . . um . . . where?
The inn, Clem's Place. More steps. Blinking and wheezing, his strength drained out like water from a tub, a steady, swirling stream that would take him with it in the end.
No way. No f.u.c.king way!
Anger helped him focus. He looked up and charged forward again, certain he'd spotted a familiar door ahead.
No, not that one, the next one over.
Yeah, red letters spelling out the serving hours for drink and food, the smell of both drifted from the wide-open front door.
Terrin dove through headfirst, landing hard on the bare flags of the floor.
Air. Lots of air here. He lay like a dying fish for a few moments, gradually becoming aware of Clem and Greta staring down at him.
”Usually they stagger and fall over after theyleave here,” Clem remarked.
”Are you all right, Mr. Terrin?” asked Greta. ”You look sick.”
He recovered enough to show his teeth. It wasn't the same as a smile. ”Tired. Just tired. Need to rest.”
”But you look feverish,” she insisted.
”I don't hold with people being feverish in my place,” Clem added. ”Bad for business.”
”Got too much sun is all,” said Terrin, making an effort to stand. He dragged himself onto a bench, and squinted outside. The street s.h.i.+mmered violently in his vision. It wouldn't stop. Dizzy-making. What the h.e.l.l was going on out there? ”Is Myhr around?”
”He got taken off awhile back,” said Clem, with a nod toward the door. He didn't seem to notice the s.h.i.+mmer at all. ”Couple of fellers carted him right out just like that. He told us to tell you.”