I didn’t wait. I burst through the door and into the back hallway, my head under my arm, a savage horror right on my heels. And while not all clairvoyants can actually see ghosts, plenty of them can. Including a good number of the audience on the stairs, judging by their screams and attempts to flee. Even Agnes’s eyes got big and she said something distinctly unladylike as I ran past her, headed for the front door.
Because ghosts have a set territory that they defend, and I needed to get past this one’s, right freaking now.
I didn’t make it. Something cold and bony, like a skeletal hand, grabbed my ankle, jerking me off my ghostly feet. I hit down face first, hard enough to halfway disappear into the flooring. That included my severed head, I guessed, because for a second, all the lights went out.
And then came back on when the hand abruptly let me go, and I somehow flailed back to the surface, only to flip over and see Rhea battling with the ghost. Her face was as grim as I’d ever seen it, spell fire laced her hands, and for a moment, she actually looked like she was winning, battering it back with blow after blow. But that was mainly because it had still been focused on me.
Until those red eyes moved to her, and narrowed menacingly.
“No!” I screamed. “Here! Right here, you bitch!”
I somehow got back to my feet, my head still under my arm, but my body moving. Because a savage blow from the ghost had just blown Rhea—body and all—something like half a dozen feet backward. I saw her hit down and slide on marble, saw the ghost start after her, saw my remaining hand reach out and grab it—
And then it was full on battle, with no time to think or even to really register what was going on.
I’d been right—this thing was strong. Stronger than any ghost I’d ever seen, and on its home turf to boot. But I wasn’t just a clairvoyant; I was a necromancer who specialized in ghosts, just like my father. And if this thing wanted a fucking fight, I’d give it one!
It roared in my face; I screamed back. And plowed my remaining fist through its ugly face. It chomped down with those razor-like teeth; I held on, and slammed it against the wall again and again and again. It slammed back, of course, throwing me around like a ragdoll yet not being smart enough to release my arm, so it went along, too.
Of course, there was probably a reason for that, I thought, feeling power start to flow out of me. It was trying to drain me, of strength, of life, of whatever it could find. Plundering my vulnerable spirit as I grimly held on. But I could play that game, too, at least with a disembodied spirit, and drained it right back, our power streams churning and flowing, fighting with each other even as our fists and feet did, especially the latter as we rose off the floor and no longer needed them for standing on.
We hit a chandelier, the crystals chiming all around us, because ghosts can move things when they want. And, right then, I wanted. I dragged the bastard thing through all those sparkly little crystals, over and over, trying to shred the spirit as it had me when it hacked half my damned arm off!
And, for a moment, it seemed to be working. It couldn’t dematerialize enough to avoid damage and hold onto me at the same time, and it was a determined monster. Resulting in what looked like filaments of gray smoke sheering off its body with each pass, and scattering around the room as if fog had come indoors. A little while longer and I’d have it!
Or it would have me, I realized. Because it was allowing me to shred it, to buy time—time I didn’t have. I’d been away from my body too long, and my light was already fading, along with my strength.
If I didn’t get back soon, there might be two ghosts haunting the Pythian Court. But the damned thing wouldn’t let go, so I did the only thing I could think of. And ripped the chandelier out of the ceiling, throwing it down on the ragged spirit, who shrieked like all the demons in hell—
And let go.
I didn’t waste any time, all but flying back to my body, where one hand was twitching against the floor as if my severed hand had made its own way back. And then the rest of me did, too, sinking inside my fallen form, feeling my body inflate like a human shaped balloon, as my senses came back to life all at once. And making me wish they hadn’t!
I lay there gasping as a seriously slowed heart suddenly sped up again. I coughed and gagged as air reached deflated lungs. I felt horribly dizzy as blood began flowing through a half-starved body, including a brain that, for a moment, didn’t know where I was or who I was.
And then I remembered.
I surged to my feet, staggered into the wall, and just stayed there for a minute, panting. Then I tore off, furious at my weakness. Because no way could those girls out there handle that thing! Get a fucking grip, I swore at myself, wiping a dusty sleeve across my drooling lips.
And then materialized twin ghostly scimitars, one in each hand, without even thinking about it. Okay, that was new—and badass, I thought, feeling myself start to grin. Only to ruin the effect by smashing face first into the still closed door, because I forgot—a body couldn’t pass right on through!
I stumbled back, cursing, and then jerked it open, standing there with glowing ghostly weapons, a bloody face, and a battle cry trembling on my lips—
Where it remained, unuttered, because I’d just caught sight of a gaggle of girls on the floor, surrounding a weeping figure—the ghost, I realized. She was trying to reassemble herself from a few dozen pieces, and having trouble with it. Until she saw me, and screamed bloody murder, scrambling back and causing every acolyte to turn on me, identical scowls on their pretty faces.
Especially on Agnes’s, who got up and came toward me, her fists clenched, her face thunderous.
“Is there a reason you just beat the hell out of our librarian?”
Well. Shit.
Chapter Thirty-One
Okay, plan Take Initiative had had a little set back. But overall, things were looking up. I’d finally talked to Rhea, and the ball was now in her court. I couldn’t do much more there. She was currently training with two of the biggest bad asses I knew, and she would decide what she would decide.
Mircea was also holding steady—so far—and was hard at work on the invasion, which seemed to be on track. We had an army who could operate in Faerie as well as on Earth, ready to go. We had a conduit into Aeslinn’s lands that he didn’t know about, bypassing the massive stone sentries that he’d place around his borders and seemed to be putting most of his faith in. We had the element of surprise and the upper hand, and if we knocked him out, we might just end this war right here.
So why wasn’t I taking a vacation?