But now was not the time to worry about such things, because something was coming.
Awareness skittered along the outer reaches of my psychic senses, a darkness that was all power, all hate.
Wilson.
And he was approaching fast.
I scanned the night, trying to pinpoint his position, wondering what he was doing. What he was planning. Marg and her crew might have succeeded in summoning him, but he was fighting all the way.
Brightness speared the trees, twin spotlights that momentarily blinded. I blinked, saw the sweep of them move on as the car followed the road. But how had it gotten in here? We'd acquired the code to the main gates and had locked up after ourselves. The cemetery itself wasn't open to the public at this hour. No vehicles besides our own should have been in here.
As the car drew closer, the roar of the engine became clearer. It was being revved hard, the driver gunning it as he sped around corners. No sane person drove like that in a cemetery. He had to be under the influence—and I didn't think that influence was alcohol.
"I think we've got a problem." I flexed the fingers of my free hand and shifted my stance a little.
"Wilson is here?" the third magi asked softly.
"I think he might be."
"Think? That's not good enough."
Annoyance rose through the tension. "Hey, you're the people doing the summoning. Why the hell haven't you got some means of knowing if he is or isn't in the area?"
"Because that takes more energy, and given the apparent strength of this soul, we need all the power we can get for containment. Which is why you're here."
Another reason to wish I couldn't communicate with the dead. I'd avoid situations like this.
The lights cut through the trees again, closer and sharper than before. I squinted against their brightness and raised the laser, "I think it highly likely that the driver of the car coming toward us is controlled by Wilson."
"Then stop the car."
"Easier said than done, lady," I muttered. Especially when there was a human life in that car. I didn't want to kill him if it was at all possible.
The car broke free of the trees. The front was smashed in, the hood scrunched up, and the windshield shattered. Bits of roses and other plants hung off what remained of the grill, and metal bits trailed along the ground, raising sparks. He'd obviously driven right through the gates rather then opening them.
The driver gunned the engine again and die car lurched sharply toward us, crashing over the curb and onto the grass. I switched to infrared, sighted on the front tire, and pressed the laser's trigger. Blue light slashed across die night, hitting the tire and slicing straight through. The sharp smell of burned rubbed filled the air as the car slewed sideways, crashing over a gravestone before it ploughed nose first into a tree. The engine gave a final splutter then died, and the hiss of steam began to fill the air.
There was no movement from the driver, and I hoped like hell the crash hadn't killed him. The sense of evil—of anger and fury—was very much alive, however, and it sharpened abruptly even as I stood there.
"He's here," I said, and wished it didn't sound like we were all in the middle of some B-grade horror movie.
"Where, precisely?" the third magi said.
"If I knew for sure, I'd tell you."
"I thought you could see souls?"
"I can. This one is just hiding." I stepped sideways, trying to get a better view of the car and the driver.
He was alive, thankfully, because he was breathing. But whether he was knocked out, or merely waiting for the unwary to step into his web was something I couldn't tell from where I stood.
Which meant I'd have to move again.
And I so didn't want to get any closer to that thick scent of anger and death.
I edged sideways a little more. The driver was big, hairy, and, even from this distance, smelled human. Meaning he was a threat only in the way all men with big fists were a threat.
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.