Once we were ready, Jaime closed her eyes and invited Weber's spirit to join us. It wasn't a simple "Hey, come on out." Inviting a spirit required long inducements, and we settled back, knowing this could take a while.
After about two minutes, the ground vibrated. Jaime stopped mid-invocation, hands raised.
"Uh, tell me no one else felt that," she said.
"The ground out here can be a little unstable," Lucas said.
I glanced at him. "Like 'eroding into the swamp at any moment' unstable?"
"No, the Cabal has taken precautions to ensure the cemetery won't sink into the Everglades until it reaches full capacity. Minor shifts, though, are not to be unexpected. Please continue."
Before she could, the earth rumbled again. I pressed my hand to the ground, which vibrated like a twanged piano tuner. Jaime grabbed her matchbook and lit the censer holding the repelling herbs. The ground gave a tremendous shake, so violent I would have toppled sideways if Lucas hadn't caught me. Behind Jaime, an oak seedling quavered, then vaulted into the air. The ground ripped open, clods of dirt spewing like volcanic lava.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Jaime said, scuttling toward us. "I know I didn't do that."
A strip of turf ripped back, like a peeled sardine can, opening a deep rectangular pit. From the bottom of the pit came scratching, scrabbling sounds.
"I would strongly suggest we don't wait to see what that is," Lucas said.
We all scooped up a handful of Jaime's equipment. As we turned to run, the thing in the pit rose to the top and, despite Lucas's advice, even he stopped to look. A body levitated over the grave. It was an old woman with long gray hair, dressed in a hospital gown. Her flesh had desiccated rather than decayed, reminding me of those bog mummies from England.
The body rotated ninety degrees, until its feet pointed at us. For a moment, it hovered there. Then, suddenly it sat upright, eyes flying open.
"Who dares disturb my eternal rest?" boomed a deep male voice with a Scottish burr.
Jaime backpedaled past us. I started to follow, then noticed Lucas hadn't moved. I tugged his jacket.
"Hey, Cortez, I think that's our signal to run."
"While I have no aversion to the general concept, it may not be warranted."
"Dinnae whisper, mortal!" the corpse rumbled. "I asked you a question. Who dares-"
"Yes, yes, I heard that part," Lucas said. "However, considering that we did not disturb you, but rather you have answered an invitation extended to another, I believe it is you who must identify yourself."
"Are you crazy?" Jaime hissed. "Leave it alone!"
"I repeat," Lucas said. "Please identify yourself."
The corpse's head snapped back with a sickening crack, then twisted in a full circle, the flesh around its neck splitting, banshee wail ripping through the Everglades.
"Ah, The Exorcist, if I'm not mistaken," Lucas murmured. "One must admire an entity with a full appreciation of contemporary pop culture." He raised his voice to be heard above the wailing. "Your name, please."
"My name is war! My name is pestilence! My name is misery and pain and everlasting torment!"
"Perhaps, but as a form of address, it is rather unwieldy. What do your friends call you?"
The thing stopped its head-spinning and glowered at Lucas. "I have nae friends. I have worshippers. I have devotees. And, thanks to you, today I have one fewer of those."
"Esus," I said.
The corpse turned toward me and sat up straighter. "Aye, thank you." It glared at Lucas. "The witch knows who I am."
"And, apparently, you know who we are," Lucas said.
"I am Esus. I know all. I know you, and I know the witch, and I know the necromancer." He peered over at Jaime. "Caught your show. Nae bad, but it could use a wee oomph."
Esus's voice had lost its orator boom and settled into an odd blend of Scottish and American idiom-the speech of an ancient spirit who liked to keep up with the times.
Jaime eased up beside us. "So you're a…"
"A druid deity," I said. "Esus, god of woodland and water."
"I like the witch," Esus said. "I'll talk to the witch."
"And we'll talk to Everett Weber," Lucas said.
"No, you willnae. I gave you a chance to speak to Everett and what did you do? Nearly got the poor bastard shot by a bunch of Cabal cowboys. But did I interfere? Nae. I stood down and let my acolyte be taken into custody, because I trusted you to get him out of there." The corpse threw up its hands. "But, och, he's out of there now. After he's dead!"
"That's true." I sidled as close to the reanimated corpse as I dared. "But, being all-knowing, you also know that wasn't our fault. We did our best with the information we had."
Esus's sigh blew bits of withered flesh out the corpse's torn neck. "I know. But I still cannae let you talk to Everett. He's a wee bit traumatized right now, being suddenly dead and all."
"Understandable," I said. "But we really do need to speak to him, and now is the best time."
"Nae can do, lassie. Ask all you want, but I'm nae changing my mind. Of course, whatever Everett knows, I know, so you could ask me. It'll cost you, thocht."
"Nuh-uh," Jaime said. "No deals with the devil. I've learned my lesson on that one."
The corpse glowered at her. "I am nae the devil. Or a demon. Or some skittering spook. I am…" Esus crossed his arms. "A god."
"Very well, then," Lucas said. "What would you like?"
"What do you think I'd like? What do all gods like? Sacrifice, of course."
"I'll give up booze for a week," Jaime said.
"Ha-ha. You could use a wee bit of that humor in your show. Far too much of that touchy-feely stuff for me. A good corpse joke now and then would liven things up. As a druid god, I demand true sacrifice. Human sacrifice." He looked at Lucas. "You'd do."
"I'm sure I would. No human sacrifices."
"A goat, then. I'll take a goat."
Jaime looked around. "Would you settle for a gator?"
"No live sacrifices," Lucas said. "Of any kind. In return for clear and comprehensible answers to our questions, I will offer you a half-pint of blood."
"Yours?"
"Of course."
Esus pursed his lips. "A full pint."
"Half before and half after."
"Agreed."
Esus dictated instructions for setting up the sacrificial circle. Then I helped Lucas draw the blood. Not for the squeamish. I'd put in plenty of volunteer hours at blood donor clinics, but our methods that night were, shall we say, a tad more primitive, involving a penknife and a bra. As a tourniquet, there's no better suited item of clothing, nor one that is less likely to be missed. And if it got bloodstained, well, I never turn down an opportunity to freshen my lingerie wardrobe.
Once the blood was drawn, I untied the makeshift tourniquet and repositioned it over the wound. Lucas held his arm up to slow the flow, then turned to Esus.
"Sufficient?" Lucas said.
"Red silk," Esus said. "Bonny. Dare I assume there are matching panties?" His gaze slid down me, grin turning to a leer, which, considering he was in the shriveled corpse of an old woman, was less than flattering. "Maybe I asked for the wrong sacrifice."
"Sorry, no virgins here," I said.
"Ne'er been that keen on virgins myself. And I'll take red silk over white lace any day. Tell you what, dump sorcerer-laddie here, and you and I-"
Lucas cleared his throat. "What can you tell us about the killer?"
"Afraid of a wee competition, señor?"
Lucas raked a pointed look over Esus's current corporeal form. "No, not really."
"Och, I'll find a better body, of course." Esus turned to me. "Blond or brunette?"
"I kinda like what I've got," I said. "Sorry."
"Oh, I can do that, too. Dinnae see the attraction, but-"