Storm Road (Old School Book 3) Page 14

  “No,” Lyall said definitely. He left his phone balanced on his knee and got out another cigarette. “The stronger summoning would have triumphed. The ghoul resisted both of us.” The strike of a match and the hiss of tobacco catching alight punctuated his conclusions. “When the summoning failed, I decided to set up here and wait for it to come to me.”

  “About that.” Yasmin’s voice was cool and direct through the phone. “Dean raised a valid concern.”

  Lyall jerked his chin in invitation that Dean share it. Smoke trickled out of his mouth in a thin stream.

  “The ghoul could extend its territory and wrap you in a bubble so that you are engulfed but not inside the ghoul’s territory.”

  The cigarette drooped. “I’d be trapped.”

  “Yes.”

  Lyall swore.

  “Tell us what Beulah has tried,” Yasmin said.

  Dean described their encounters with the ghoul.

  “It definitely called the wizard to it?” Lyall poked at the issue. “It called in a wizard, but shut me out?”

  “Did you try to enter wearing protective charms?” Yasmin asked.

  Lyall’s hand went to his chest.

  And there’s your answer, Dean thought wearily. The ghoul had allowed this morning’s pathetic wizard to enter because it had been confident of overcoming the steak-blood smeared symbol drawn on his chest. Lyall’s protections were too good and made the ghoul wary.

  “I’m not going in unprotected.” Lyall leaned over the phone, making his point to Yasmin.

  “What good are you out here?” Dean asked, frustration and worry for Beulah trumping tact.

  Lyall stabbed the air with a nicotine-stained finger. “I know things.”

  Dean reined in his impatience. This was like preparing for a court case. Witnesses had to be cajoled into answering. “Do you know how a weather mage can vanquish a ghoul?” Since Beulah is the only person attempting to fight the ghoul, he thought angrily.

  He had the phone number for the Stag mercenaries in his pocket. Her reluctance to contact them made him unwilling to do so until he’d exhausted what Lyall could offer. Even if help on the ground wasn’t available, information could be valuable.

  Yasmin spoke up. Perhaps she felt the need to defend her decision to send Lyall to them. “Ghouls are constructs. Lyall has a theory that ghosts are more than spirits that don’t pass on. They are spirits that manage to attract sufficient paranormal energy to manifest.”

  Dean shook his head. “Beulah doesn’t believe in ghosts.” She was his expert in this new-to-him world of magic. “Nor do I.”

  “Your disbelief means squat,” Lyall said. “Ghosts exist. But they are remnants of people who have lived. Spirits, souls. They’ve been born and died. The paranormal energy that enables them to manifest spins around a core of created being. Ghouls are different.”

  Dean rocked on his heels. “‘Unnamed, unmourned, unborn,’ was what Beulah chanted in the summoning.”

  “That’s the idea.” Lyall grabbed for his phone as a jiggle of his knee sent it sliding. “A ghoul is an energy construct. It’s not natural as humans or demons are, generated as part of a chain of existence.”

  This was why Yasmin had sent him, Dean realized. Lyall understood the theory of the ghoul’s existence.

  Dean waited till the man lit yet another cigarette.

  Lyall’s gaze finally ceased darting around and, as he drew on the cigarette, he stared at a fallen angel. Literally, at a fallen angel. The marble cupid had broken off a gravestone and lay among the rampant periwinkle growing at the edge of the cleared patch of ground.

  “I’m not here to be a hero,” Lyall said evenly. There was no shame or defensiveness in his voice. He didn’t glance at Dean for his response. Self-acceptance made it a simple statement of fact. “When Yasmin couldn’t reach Sue, who has vanquished a ghoul, Yasmin contacted a friend of mine. Mike can be tempted into playing the hero. He has power, but he’s less interested in it than in discovering how other people’s power works. So our research interests align.”

  The hum of grasshoppers and cicadas buzzed lazily in the late afternoon air. With little wind, the smoke from Lyall’s cigarette dispersed slowly. He shifted his gaze from the statue of the fallen angel to the phone balanced on his knee. “Mike’s in Wisconsin at the moment. A hellgate opened. He suggested Yasmin contact me.” He sucked in smoke. “Mike knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to study a ghoul, especially the revelation of its power structure as it unravels.”

  “Unravels as in ‘is vanquished’?” Dean asked.

  Lyall glanced at him. “Ghouls are rare, so research on them is more theoretical than practical. It’s possible to hypothesize their form. They’re an unborn entity, so they have to be brought into existence by something not normally considered generative. They’re not created by an external force, such as a spell. They’re spontaneous in the same way as spontaneous combustion operates—it looks sudden, but there is a hidden chain of precipitating events. I want to understand the core around which the energy a ghoul attracts spins.”

  He tapped his cigarette on the spindly arm of the camp chair. “I want the ghoul to unravel, and I want to be there to observe it, but as I said, I’m not a hero. By your own account, the ghoul broke the protection charm you wore.”

  “After I extended it to cover Beulah as well,” Dean said. He hadn’t confided how that action had caused him and Beulah to share their memories.

  “The pertinent point is that the ghoul broke the protection charm. I’m not going to risk myself.” Lyall tapped his chest, presumably where his personal protection charm hid beneath his shirt.

  Dean bit down hard on what he wanted to say. For the use Lyall had been, why had Yasmin bothered bringing him here—or asking Dean to wait to tell of his and Beulah’s encounters with the ghoul in person? Lyall might have theoretical knowledge, but if he wasn’t prepared to use it, to risk himself in vanquishing the ghoul, what help was he?

  “I don’t have magic.” Lyall ground out his cigarette, then stood, phone in hand.

  Feeling annoyed, Dean didn’t step back. He knew his closeness intimidated the smaller man. He meant it to.

  Lyall’s mouth twisted. “You don’t have magic, either. You should understand the stupidity of going into a fight weaponless.”

  “We don’t get to pick our battles,” Dean ground out.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I always pick my battles.” Lyall sidled toward the one man tent.

  Dean took a step to block him.

  Lyall’s hands flew up in a gesture of surrender. “I told you I pick my battles. I’m not going to fight you. In fact, I have something you might want. Yasmin’s friend will want it.”

  Mention of Beulah made Dean pause.

  Lyall crouched and searched in a rucksack.

  Dean watched closely. If the man drew out a weapon, he was close enough to disable him before he used it—unless Lyall lied about his lack of magic.

  Lyall took a necklace out of the rucksack. A faint smile acknowledged Dean’s confusion. “I mightn’t have magic, but I’ve learned to substitute for it. I can use charms and other enchanted objects. Crystals, bones and other objects of power can all be harnessed. The witch clans are an enlightening field of study.” He looked at the phone. “Yasmin, I’ll call you later.” He ended the call and switched off his phone.

  “Secrets?” Dean asked sardonically.

  “Her part is played,” Lyall said. “And mine is, too. I want to observe the ghoul, but from your report, the risk of entering its territory is too high for me. But you will return, won’t you? A former marine. You won’t leave Beulah behind.”

  Dean didn’t answer.

  Lyall didn’t seem to expect him to. He shoved his phone in his trouser pocket and used both hands to display the necklace. It was formed of crystals and a feather, strung on copper wire. “I lack the magic to bind or vanquish the ghoul, but I came here prepared to trap it. You could call this a te
mporary binding.”

  Dean studied the necklace with renewed interest. “How does it work?”

  “It’s my own design, one adapted from an ordinary paranormal energy syphon. Because this is a ghoul, you may need to use a drop of blood to activate it. Here, on this black stone. It’s tourmaline. The other stones…but you don’t care what they are.”

  “And an eagle’s feather?” Dean asked.

  “A phoenix feather,” Lyall corrected him, and stroked the feather. “As rare as a ghoul, but potent. It’s the power source and should hold the ghoul until Mike can close the hellgate in Wisconsin and get here. He has the magic to vanquish the ghoul—and I’ll observe the deconstruction of the ghoul’s energy as he does so.”

  Dean nodded. “So that’s your motivation.”

  “As I said, I’m a researcher, not a hero. But since I have what you need, that shouldn’t bother you.”

  “It doesn’t. How do I use it?”

  “As I said, a drop of blood on this black stone will initiate the energy in the trap. The blood is needed to lure the ghoul. Once it touches the trap—and I use ‘touch’ in the most metaphorical sense. The trap simply needs to encounter the ghoul’s energy. It is designed to destabilize energy, and it will suck in the ghoul and hold it. Ideally for long enough for Mike to get here. If you bring it to me, there are things we can do to strengthen the holding pattern. Running water, sunlight.”

  “What if the ghoul is stronger than the trap?”

  “Then it won’t work,” Lyall said simply. “And that is why I don’t intend to enter the ghoul’s territory. In fact, I shall retreat to Asheville. As you said, and as I overlooked, the ghoul could expand its territory not to include me, but to enclose me. I’ll wait for your phone call, then meet you.”

  Dean thought about it. The trap would give them breathing space to work out how to vanquish the ghoul even if Mike got stuck on closing the hellgate. And who’d have thought hellgates were real? Then again, he’d encountered hell on earth before. “How likely is it that the trap will work?”

  “Good enough that I was going to risk it.” Lyall tilted the necklace, letting the crystals catch the sun. Even in the light a few refused to shine.

  “You were going to risk using this, but only while wearing a personal protection charm.”

  “True. On the other hand, you can go back to your friend with nothing or with a forty percent chance of trapping the ghoul.”

  Forty percent. It wasn’t a high chance of success.

  It was better than nothing.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Lyall passed him the necklace. “Whether you succeed in trapping the ghoul or not, I’d like the energy syphon back. The component parts can be reused.”

  Dean thought of all that could go wrong. The crystals felt cold, almost slimy, against his skin. “If I’m able to return it to you, I will. If the ghoul even lets me back into its territory carrying this.”

  “A problem for you.” Lyall lit another cigarette. “Good luck. And if you need motivation, from what you told me of your experiences with the ghoul, it’ll be hunting tonight. It’ll kill if you don’t stop it.”

  Chapter 9

  Beulah paced her cabin. She’d made pasta for dinner since it was simple, hot and filling. She’d eaten as much as she could force down, and would reheat the remainder for Dean when he returned.

  He would return.

  She spun away from the window, unsettled to realize that she’d gravitated to it, again. That she stood staring through the gap in the trees to the woods. The dark had come. Not full dark, but dim enough that the occasional neighbor or wandering tourist had to drive with their headlights on, and seeing the beam of those headlights jolted her heart into beating faster. But the three times the lights had shone, the car had never turned into her driveway. It had never been Dean.

  What had he discovered beyond the ghoul’s territory? Yasmin and Vanessa would be doing their best to find a wizard able to vanquish the ghoul, but what if the ability was as rare as ghouls themselves?

  “It doesn’t matter.” She’d proven today that any help would be better than her, a weather mage.

  She cupped her hands in the trick she’d used to convince Dean of magic’s reality. Her hands filled with water, with rain from the miniature cloud she created. Then she nudged her magic and the cloud dissipated. The trace of water on her palms evaporated, returning to the air in the cabin and surrounding it.

  Her magic was strong. She had met only two other weathermages in her life, and neither had wielded a power to rival hers. Her magic affected all weathers: snow and drought, wind and lightning. Plus, she travelled. The other two had been grounded, earthed. They had looked after the regions they called home, and that was it. Even then, they’d specialized in gentling rain. They had stared at her, shocked, almost terrified, when she’d asked if they’d ever called a storm at sea.

  She hadn’t mentioned the waterspout she’d so recklessly formed as a teenager.

  Meeting the two other weathermages had left her feeling alone. Not special. Having more power than others only meant she had to exercise greater control.

  Alone. It was a drumbeat in the cabin.

  She’d expected Dean to return before now. Before darkness descended on the mountains and the ghoul came into its full power.

  What if the ghoul blocked Dean from re-entering its territory?

  “He won’t let it. He’ll come home with good news. Yasmin will have learned more about ghouls and her expert will be fully briefed to act. The ghoul will be vanquished.”

  But her brave words rang thinly on the air. Her own voice robbed her of confidence rather than propping up her resolve.

  She wasn’t tired any more. Rest, food and recharging her magic had taken care of her exhaustion. However, she was unsettled. She’d known that her magic was ill-suited to tackling the problem of the ghoul, but complete failure was something she’d seldom had to accept.

  What if Dean didn’t make it out of the ghoul’s territory? That was her worst fear. The ghoul could act in daylight. How much would it take to crash Dean’s car? If he bled onto the ground, the ghoul could possess him. Her deepest, darkest fear was that Dean was already lost to her.

  “Oh, God.” She was back at the window, straining her eyes against the darkness.

  If Dean didn’t return, what should she do?

  If Yasmin couldn’t send help, what was there left for Beulah to try?

  She returned to Samuel’s books. There had to be help here. Information. Something that she could use. Knowledge was power. But her fingers trailed over the books and she left them unopened.

  The family bible she’d carried to Millie’s house lay on the top of the bookcase nearest the door. She picked it up, cradling the weight against her chest, and carried it to the table. She opened it not to the familiar words of the Old Testament or gospels, but to the list of the family’s births, deaths and marriages. It ought to have been reassuring. It was a promise. Births and marriages were expressions of potential and love, counteracting the loss that was death.

  But death came in the end. She remembered how she’d searched for the family who’d owned the bible and how she’d learned that none remained. The last daughter had died alone, old and alone. The family tree had withered.

  The bleak thoughts fluttered around her like bats circling a victim. Thoughts of loss and how life slipped through your fingers had her sinking down onto the floor.

  These were the thoughts that the ghoul encouraged to defeat its victims. But the ghoul wasn’t here. The ward around her land held. No, these thoughts were all hers, crawling up from the pit of her psyche. You didn’t have to be asleep for nightmares to haunt you.

  She forced herself to her feet, determined not to be a victim. Yesterday, for the first time in years, she’d felt warmth and desire rise in her at a man’s kiss. She wanted to feel it again. She wanted Dean. Her husband’s betrayal and the death of their unborn child had frozen her passionate na
ture. However, the part of her, the reckless daring heart of her, that she’d tried to wall off from loving and being hurt again, was forcing itself forward.

  Staying alone in the cabin hurt.

  Her heart didn’t care about control and consequences. She didn’t care. She wanted to be with the man who made her believe that loving again was possible; that the world would keep turning even if she let herself feel riotous joy, not just quiet contentment.

  And then there were her neighbors. Even living sedately in her cabin, she’d come to care for the people who’d welcomed her into their lives and community. As much as she’d withdrawn from intimate ties, her heart had always reached out with caring and concern.

  That was the problem now. Her neighbors were in danger from the ghoul.

  How long can I stay safely in the cabin if Dean doesn’t return? He had her promise that she would wait for him…but could she leave her neighbors to face the ghoul in the night, unaware of the evil that hunted the mountains?

  She put the old bible down gently.

  The phone rang.

  The rental car stalled a third and final time. Dean suspected that if he shifted into reverse and rolled back down the road, the engine would restart. He’d be able to turn around and drive away.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  He guided the car to the side of the road and got out. Three times he’d tried to progress beyond the massive fallen pine tree at the side of the road, and three times the car’s engine had stalled.

  The necklace trap that Lyall had traded him for the chance to observe the ghoul’s vanquishment lay on the passenger seat. It glinted in the car’s interior lighting. Outside, night gathered. He’d pushed to return earlier, but circumstances had conspired against him.

  First he’d phoned Yasmin. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t trust Lyall—although the man didn’t inspire trust. Dean had wanted to independently check the use of the trap, and it had been worth questioning Yasmin. At her request, he’d sent her a photo of the trap and she’d analyzed it as best she could.