Out in the lobby, Mick was hugging the wall by the front door, cheek pressed to it, palm moving over the plaster as though he caressed a lover’s skin. I envied the wall. I knew what he was doing, though, feeling the essence of the building, connecting with his own magic in it.
Coyote sprawled in a chair with his feet up, watching Mick with interest. Cassandra sat on one of the leather sofas, arms pressed over her stomach, staring at the floor. I plopped down next to her.
“Cassandra, you are the most amazing witch I’ve ever met,” I said. “Your power could light a city.”
Cassandra didn’t look up at me. “Is there a point to this little pep talk?”
Her acid tone surprised me, but I let it go. We were all a little nervous. “I mean that if anyone can defeat a curse it’s you. I’m here to help you, and so is Mick, and we have Coyote. The four of us are damned powerful. We can break this, especially if we work on it together.”
“And me.” Fremont came down the stairs, minus his toolbox, his overalls, face, and cap still spattered with blood.
“And Fremont.” I knew Fremont’s magic was minimal, but even a minor mage can contribute to a group spell. “Thanks, Fremont. We’d welcome your help.”
He gave me a pleased look, but Cassandra raised her head, her eyes red-rimmed and moist. “Janet, will you quit with the team-leader attitude? This is serious.”
“I know, which is why I’m trying to come up with answers.”
Cassandra wiped her eyes as Fremont went back upstairs, probably to check the plumbing. “Do you know what an ununculous is?”
“An unun . . . a what?” I asked.
“It’s a sorcerer who is a master of the blackest arts,” Cassandra said. “And when I say master, I mean the best sorcerer in the world, practitioner of the darkest magics. There are mages out there who summon demons to enhance their power, but an ununculous has more power than any demon ever could. Demons fear him. If he summons a demon, it’s to steal all its power and then try out a new way to kill the demon. The Nazis used an ununculous during the war—there was a branch that tried dark sorcery.”
“Oh, nice. But you keep saying ‘he.’ Are there no female ununculouses?” I paused as my tongue twisted. “Or is the plural of ununculous ununculi?”
“There is no plural, because there’s never more than one at a time.” Cassandra’s voice weakened as she spoke. “When he reaches the highest stage of his power, he fights the current ununculous, and only one survives. An ununculous never trains any other mage, because he knows he’d be teaching his own killer. They do their best to murder any mage who shows inclination to study the black arts too deeply. An aspiring ununculous trains in utmost secret, or he or she doesn’t survive.”
I blew out my breath and scrubbed my hand through my still-blood-caked hair. “And that’s what’s after you?”
Cassandra nodded. “I won’t name him, in case that calls him. But John Christianson employed the ununculous from time to time, paying him millions, to do things for him and for the ‘C.’ The ununculous took the money and did the deeds because he likes money; he’s the ultimate hedonist. I met him a couple of times.” She shuddered. “He knows me; he must have tracked me here.”
I smiled grimly. “But can this ununculous stand against a god, a dragon, a Stormwalker, and one hell of a witch?”
Cassandra gave me a deprecating glance. “Oh, yes. It’s likely he’ll welcome the challenge. He’ll enjoy experimenting until he figures out the most satisfying way of killing us, one at a time.”
I gestured to Coyote, who was still watching Mick fondle the walls.
“Coyote’s a god. Your ununculous, whatever he might aspire to be, is still mortal. Coyote can unmake him anytime he wants to.”
Coyote shrugged. “Maybe.”
I was tired of playing team leader. I got off the couch and headed for the hall that led to my private bedroom and bath. “You three figure something out. I need a shower, even if the water heater is out.”
“No can do, Janet,” Fremont called to me, coming down the stairs again. “Water’s out completely.”
I swung around. “What do you mean? Are the faucets still spraying blood?”
“No, I mean nothing’s coming out. I opened up all the faucets, but they’re bone-dry. That’s all right, though. I can work on the pipes better if the water’s gone.”
“That does it.” I didn’t discount Cassandra’s worry, but damn it, I wanted a shower. “Coyote, blast the curse and get rid of it. We’ll deal with Cassandra’s ununculous when he shows up to finish the job.”
Coyote yawned. “As Fremont says, no can do.”
I marched to the all-powerful god and stuck my finger at his face. “Don’t you dare give me any crap about not interfering in the lives of mortals, because you do it all the time. I’m filthy, it’s getting cold, and there’s a Nightwalker about to rise upstairs while the blood I bought for him slowly spoils in the nonworking refrigerator. Just get rid of the curse. If you are holding out to see how we deal with it, I’ll . . . I’ll tell my grandmother.”
Coyote’s eyes flickered. “Oh, hey, that’s not fair.”
My grandmother, from whom I’d inherited my Stormwalker magic, often hung around my hotel parking lot in the form of a crow, watching over me (or watching to see what I did wrong). She didn’t like Coyote. Once upon a time, she’d run him off our place in Many Farms, he in his coyote form, she with a broom. Grandmother had no fear of trickster gods.
Coyote looked troubled. “I really mean I can’t do it, Janet, sweetie. I seem to have lost my mojo.” He opened his hand and made a throwing motion at the windows, but again, nothing happened. The panes didn’t even rattle.
My heart squeezed. “You’re a god. Your magic can’t disappear.”
“Apparently, it can.”
“You’re tricking me, right? Pretending to be powerless so you’ll see what I’ll do? Some god thing about observing the human condition?”
Coyote leaned to me until we were face-to-face. His nose had been broken at some time in his human form and hadn’t healed in the best way. Why he hadn’t fixed that, I had no idea. “No, Janet. I truly can’t work any magic.”
I went cold. If this ununculous was so powerful that his curse could render a god helpless, what could we do against him?
Fear and rage awoke in me, and that, in turn, stirred the all-powerful, goddess-from-hell magic I fought every day to control. I’d been teaching myself, with the help of my friends, to twine it with my Stormwalker magic, to form a warm and strong power without the side effect of chaotic destruction, but it was tough going.
There was no storm in the sky right now, and if I chose, I could let the Beneath magic untwine itself and become as hot and crazy and devastating as ever. Coyote didn’t want me doing that—a mortal with god magic was a dangerous thing, he’d told me—but I considered this an emergency.
“To hell with it,” I said. “Get out of the way, Mick. I’m breaking the curse.”
Mick stood up, his hand still pressed to the wall. His eyes had gone coal black all the way through, no more trace of blue. “The hex runs pretty deep. If you rip it away from the wards, you might destroy the walls.”
“I don’t care if I bring down the whole damned hotel. I can rebuild it—I’ve done it before. After I take a shower.”
Coyote rose, his height and bulk a formidable barrier. “Janet, you know I can’t let you use the Beneath magic.”
“Make an exception. You can’t do shit right now. You just said that.”