Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

My mother lifted her sword. Ready to send him to hell, as she'd done with Leah.

She swung the blade. One clean, effortless cut through the torso. The sorcerer's eyes bugged. His mouth worked. Then his upper half slid to the floor, blood spurting, the shriek dying in a keening gurgle as his legs fell over and he lay there, blinking, mouth still open, any noise he made drowned out by Jaime's screams.

"What the hell?" Mom whispered.

She backed up, sword held out, gaze fixed on it as if it had come to life in her hand. She slid on the blood and looked down at the floor.

"What the hell?"

She stared at her jeans and blouse, soaked with the sorcerer's blood.

"What the hell!"

I stood there, watching her and trying hard, very hard, not to look at that horrible, bisected body.

My mother blinked. Then she leaped forward, sword raised, and stabbed the still-blinking sorcerer through the heart, releasing him to death.

Jaime stopped screaming. At least, stopped audibly screaming, fist jammed into her mouth, eyes closed. Then she went rigid. Her eyes flew open and fixed on something I couldn't see.

"You--you called her," she whispered. "I don't know what you did, but--"

She flinched and I knew she was talking to the sorcerer's ghost. My mother jumped forward, but Jaime lifted her hands.

"I-it's okay. He's gone." Jaime looked around. "I don't understand."

"I do." My voice came out soft, barely audible. Then I turned to my mother. "You're real. I mean, you're here."

I stepped forward and reached out. My fingers touched her sleeve. The fabric dimpled under them and then I was touching her. Her. My mother. "Oh, God."

My eyes filled and she reached for me. I swallowed. Fresh blood trickled down my neck. She stopped short, yanked at her shirt and wheeled on Jaime.

"First aid. Find a kit. Now!"

Mom ripped her shirt off, buttons popping, and pressed it to my throat. Then she led me over to a chair and made me sit. All I could think was, It's Mom. My mother is here. I can see her. I can hear her. I can reach out and touch her.

I sat there, feeling no pain while she and Jaime tended to my throat. In shock, I guess. I dimly heard my mother say the cut was shallower than it looked--the sorcerer knew what he was doing, inflicting minimal damage while making it look serious.

I didn't care. My mother was here. Right here. I kept trying to process it, but my brain refused.

They taped me up. No one said much. I think we were all in shock, even Mom, who kept looking over at the bisected corpse as if she expected it to magically mend.

"How . . . how did he do it?" I whispered. "That's not possible." I looked at Jaime. "Is it?"

She shook her head. "Zombies, yes. A ghost inhabiting a living body, yes. Bringing back a ghost in corporeal form? It doesn't happen. Can't."

"Just like you can't manifest a hell-beast," I said. "But he did."

No one answered me.

"We need to go," Jaime said finally. "We can . . . figure all this out later. For now, we have to call--" She glanced at the phone, then at the bodies.

"No calls," I said, snapping out of it. "Or the first person the cops will track down is whoever received a phone call post carnage."

"Careful, baby," Mom said. "You probably shouldn't talk."

Baby. How long had it been since I'd heard that? Fresh tears made the room swim. I swiped them away as she leaned over, ignoring the blood as she hugged me tentatively, then tighter, when I didn't evaporate at her touch.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Everything's okay."