Kim Harrison - White Witch, Black Curse

Ivy wasn’t trying to move. If she’d wanted to, she could have broken his arm without a thought. Tears shimmered in the light as I angled the flashlight down. “Kisten died because of something I did,” she said, anger shifting to pain. “And now I can’t do anything to make the hurt go away. He’s dead! Art even took that from me!”

“What are you going to do!” Edden shouted at her, his voice echoing. “The vampire is dead! You can’t get revenge from a dead body. You want to tear him apart and throw chunks of him at the wall? He’s dead! Let it go or it will ruin your life, and then he wins again.”

Ivy was crying silently. Edden was right, but I didn’t know how to convince her of it.

Edden snatched the lantern from me and turned. “Look at that, Ivy!” he said, shining it directly on the corpse. “Look at that and tell me that is a victory.”

She tensed as if to scream, but then the tears flowed and she gave up. Arms wrapped around herself, she whispered, “The son of a bitch. The fucking son of a bitch. Both of them.”

The deep chill took the core of my being as I stared at the twisted pieces of what remained. The dusty scent of Art’s fingers on me was heavy in my memory as I looked at his broken hand and the flesh pulled tight to the bone. I could feel his touch on my throat, my wrist. It had been a hard death, leaving him mummified, a gross caricature of twisted limbs and contorted bones as the two strains of vampire virus fought for control, breaking him until he couldn’t survive even as an undead.

It was easy to imagine what had happened. Dying from the undead blood Kisten had given him, Art called his scion. Denon died by accident or design as Art tried to gain enough strength to fight off Kisten’s undead blood. No wonder Ivy wanted a way out. This was ugly.

Edden let the light fall from the cot. His eyes were tired as he flicked it off and only Mia’s lantern lit the tunnel. He looked at Ivy’s raw misery, then hiked his belt up to try to find a semblance of his usual demeanor. “We’ll let the room air out, then get a shoe for a print match. We’re done here.”

Ivy was against the wall, staring at the black doorway. “He never would have touched Kisten if it hadn’t been for me.”

“No,” I said firmly. “Kisten said it wasn’t your fault. He said it, Ivy. Told me to tell you.” Setting the lantern down, I crossed the tunnel, my shadow blanketing her. “He said so,” I repeated as I touched her shoulder, finding her ice cold. Her eyes were black, but they weren’t looking at me, they were focused on the dark hole across from us. “Ivy, if you take this on your conscience, it will be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen you do.”

That got through to her, and her gaze flicked to me.

“He didn’t blame you,” I said as I gave her bicep a squeeze. “If he did, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his life to kill the bastard for you and me both. He loved me, Ivy, but it was thinking of you that made his decision. He did it because he loved you.”

Ivy’s expression cracked, and her face twisted in pain. “I loved him!” she shouted, voice echoing. “I loved him, and there’s nothing I can do to prove it! Art is dead!” she said, gesturing. “Piscary is dead! I can’t do anything to prove I loved Kisten. This isn’t fair, Rachel! I want to hurt someone, and no one is left!”

Edden shifted uneasily. My throat was tight. I wanted to hug her and tell her that it was going to be okay, but it wasn’t. There was no one to take revenge on, no one to point to and say, I know what you did and you are shit for it. That Piscary was dead and Art was a twisted corpse didn’t come close to being enough.

“Ladies…,” Edden prompted, gesturing down the tunnel with his light. “I’ll get a forensics team down here tonight. Once we are sure of the identities, I’ll let you know.” He took a step to leave, hesitating to make sure we would follow.

Clearly exhausted, Ivy pushed herself from the wall. “Piscary gave Kisten to Art as compensation for me putting him in jail. It was political. God, I hate my life.”

I stared at the black hole in the wall, tension rising in me. She was right. Kisten had died in a political power play. His bright soul just starting to learn its own strength had been snuffed out to soothe an ego and bring Ivy to her knees. Revenge I might have understood, but this…

Whispering good-bye to Kisten, Ivy dropped her head and passed me. I didn’t move, staring at the black hole. Edden’s hand fell on my shoulder. “You need to get warmed up.”

I jerked out from under him. Warmed up. Good idea. I wasn’t ready to walk away. Kisten’s soul was at rest because he had fought back and won. But what about those of us who were left behind? What about Ivy and me? Didn’t we have the right to satisfaction, too?

My heart pounded, and I clenched my jaw. “I am not going to live with this pain.”

Ivy’s boots scuffed to a stop, and Edden squinted suspiciously at me.

Shaking, I pointed at the dark hole. “I’m not going to let the I.S. cover this up, put them in the ground with pretty headstones and dignified names and dates and say that Kisten was murdered to further someone’s political agenda.”

Ivy shook her head. “It makes no difference.”

It made a difference to me. The room was cloaked in black, hiding the depravity of what happened when a lifetime was spent afraid of death, when one’s entire existence was bent to the selfish desires of the self, when the soul was exchanged for the mindless drive to survive. Real lives were ruined in the wake of these ugly caricatures of power. Kisten’s soul lost just as he found the strength in himself, Ivy winding the noose tighter in her attempts to find peace. Darkness wouldn’t cover this up. I wanted the room bright. Bright with a savage truth so that it would never be consigned to the shelter of the earth.

“Rachel?” Ivy asked, and shaking, I tapped a line. It touched me, tearing my thin aura like a flame. I went down on a knee, but gritting my teeth, I stood, letting the pain flow through me, accepting it.

“Celero inanio,” I shouted, giving the force an outlet of a black charm gesture. I’d seen Al do it. How hard could it be?

The line roared into me, pulled by the charm. Agony flamed, and I convulsed, refusing to let go of the line as the spell worked. “Rachel!” Ivy shouted, and I fell back at the white-light explosion in the middle of the room. My hair blew back, then shifted forward as the air in the room burnt itself out and new rushed in to replace it. Like heaven itself, the glory of fire burned white, a tiny spot of black at the center of my rage.

I fell to my knees, eyes fixed on the doorway and the hard stone going unnoticed as my knees bruised. And then Ivy had me. Her arms cushioned me, and I gasped, not at their icy softness, but at the sudden cessation of pain from the line. She had me again, and her aura protected me, filtering the worst of it.

“You stupid witch,” she said bitterly as she held me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I stared up at her, the line cool and clean in me. “Are you sure you can’t feel anything?” I questioned, not believing her aura was protecting me from this.

“Just my heart breaking. Let it go, Rachel.”

“Not yet,” I said, and with her arms around me, I pointed at the hellhole. “Celero inanio!” I said again.

“Stop!” Ivy shouted, and I screamed as her hands left me and the pain bent me double. I gasped, feeling my lungs burn. But I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t done yet.

The cot burst into flame, a glowing haze of orange hovering over it, looking like a body contorting in torment. The blood on the floor was a puff of black that whirled up as more air was sucked in to replace that which was burnt. Ivy’s hands found me from behind, and I took a clean breath as the pain was muted and I could bear it again.