I blew out a breath, then walked closer. A dark stream of fluid poured down the driver's rough features, then leapt off his chin to join the ever-widening stain on the front of his crisp white shirt. It didn't take a wolfs nose to realize it was blood. Maybe he was out cold. The wound had to be pretty bad to be bleeding that hard, and humans weren't as thick skinned or as tolerant to pain as us wolves.
He needed help and he needed it fast, but there was little I could do for him until Wilson was under control. Until them, paramedics just meant more bodies for Wilson to use.
"Sir?" I said loudly, my voice seeming to jar against the darkness. "Sir? Can you hear me? Are you all right?"
For several seconds, there was no response. Then the driver's head turned and he looked at me. His eyes were brown and staring, and there was absolutely nothing remotely resembling life or humanity in them.
He might be unconscious, he might be close to death, but none of that mattered because, right now, it was the dead who controlled him.
"He's in the driver," I said to the magi. "Can you guys amp up your summoning strength or something?"
"It's not like there's a dial we can turn," she replied crossly.
"Well, you'd better do something, because this bad boy doesn't seem inclined to move."
Of course, the minute the words were out of my mouth, the driver did move, thrusting the car door open and lunging toward me. I leapt back from his grasping fingertips then swung around, lashing out with a booted foot. The blow hit the already-bloody side of his face and sent him flying. His head smacked against the corner of the door. Bone cracked and more blood appeared as he slumped to the ground.
I hoped to God I hadn't killed him, but I had a bad feeling that might not be the case. I'd been reacting to Wilson, and had totally forgotten the body was human.
The thing inside the stranger screamed - a haunting, unearthly, and violent sound - then wisps of smoke began to unravel from the stranger, rolling down the outside of his body before exiting via his shiny shoes.
The snakelike apparition sat there for several seconds, pulsating in time to the ebb and flow of sharpening energy in the air. Then it lunged straight at me.
I yelped and leapt back, and almost without thought, pressed the laser's trigger. The blue beams shot through the smoky form, scattering it briefly but not permanently.
Then, with almost light speed it was on me, wrapping itself around my legs and slithering upward, the cold chill of death, destruction, and hate eating into my senses. I swatted at it, trying to get it off me, my heart racing nine to the dozen as Wilson's wispy form climbed higher and the thick scent of hell seemed to encase me. Then the bag on my chest began to burn, and the sweet scent of fennel and flowers flooded the air.
Wilson screamed again, and the wisps of him were torn from my clothing. Relief flooded me, though I knew the danger was far from over.
But one thing was certain. I was never, ever going to mock anything a magi handed to me for protection again. The weird-looking bag had not only saved me, but probably them, too. Under Wilson's control, I would have been a very deadly weapon.
The bits of his soul were condensing, solidifying again. Once whole, he began to slither away. But his progress was sideways more than forward, because part of him was being dragged ever closer to the gravesite and the open casket.
"He's about six feet away," I told the third magi, "but he seems to be heading for the trees more than the grave."
"He's a strong one," she said, seemingly unconcerned.
I glanced across at Marg and the other magi. Sweat dotted their faces now, and the veins along their necks were beginning to stand out against their pale skin. Marg in particular looked ready for a seizure.
But the sense of command and energy was stronger, the sparks of it crawling across my skin and making my hair float out from my scalp.
Slowly but surely, Wilson was being drawn closer to his grave.
He still wasn't going easily, twisting and rolling and snapping against the leash of magic.
Then another power joined the energy in the night, one that contained the chill of death.
Wilson, not the magi.
Trees moaned and splintered, then there was a huge cracking sound. A massive tree branch broke free and went hurtling through the night. Not at me, but at the magi.
I cursed and raised the laser, quickly incinerating as much of it as I could. Ash, splinters, and leaf rained around the three women. There was another crack, then another, and suddenly the air was filled with flying debris. I kept the trigger depressed, the laser growing hotter in my hand. Branches, leaves, and gravestones filled the air - deadly missiles that crashed toward the women. I was never going to get all of them and I didn't even try, merely slicing through the biggest of them, the ones that could do the most damage.
Through it all, and no matter how many times they were hit, Marg and the other magi continued their chanting. The power they were raising grew so sharp it felt like thousands of ants were clawing and nipping at my skin and the air was so thick it burned my lungs.
Then there was another high-pitched scream, and the wisp that was Wilson's soul shot toward the open grave. The wood and rubbish in the air fell to the ground, and the night was suddenly quiet except for the thick and edgy sense of power.
The third magi quickly lit the remaining incense then completed the salt circle.