“Come again?”
“I know where he’s gone — or, rather, I’ve I good idea how he got there. And more importantly, how you can follow.”
There was a thud at the door. Two hundred pounds of wood and iron rattled like cheap particleboard. Strong though it was, that door wouldn’t keep them out forever.
“You mean how we can follow.”
“No, I don’t. This mode of transportation is inaccessible to those of us who no longer inhabit organic vessels — to the Chosen, to the Fallen, and to me. I suspect that’s why Grigori went to the trouble of procuring it, despite its rarity, expense, and unpleasantness.”
Another smack against the door, more forceful this time. I heard a groan as the bolts that affixed the metal brackets holding the beam lock in place began to loosen. “Okay,” I said, “you wanna tell me what, exactly, we’re talking about here?”
“Sure,” she said, plucking an unlabeled, clear glass bottle full of slightly cloudy yellow liquid, in which floated something thumb-sized, curled, and white, from the shipping crate. She held it up for me to see, “you’re going through a wormhole.”
“You mean like science fiction?”
Lilith laughed. “No, I fear this is far messier and more magical than that. You’ve heard of the alchemical practice of astral projection, have you not? Remote viewing?”
“Of course, but I was under the impression the people who were doing it were just tripping their faces off on whatever wacky shit they ingested to induce the state.”
“Well, you’re half-right. The compounds employed to induce the state are potent, indeed — some of the harshest toxins of the plant and animal world both — and the practice itself has largely become a joke as the old ways died off, only to be halfheartedly revived by latter generations of dilettantes and pretenders with no notion how to harness and focus the incredible power of the tools they yield.”
“So what is that stuff, then?”
“This stuff, as you so glibly refer to it, is a staggering work of alchemical art, crafted some four hundred years ago by one of the finest practical magicians this world has ever known. A witch doctor, you might have called him, by the name of Shaddam, who made his home in the swamps of what is now south Florida, and who was burned at the stake by the Spanish during their Inquisition for his crimes against God and nature both.”
“All very impressive,” I said, impatiently. Then, with worry, as I saw the white something inside the bottle wriggle, “Uh, is that a live worm?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lilith. “It’s only half of one. And a damn rare half of one at that. I thought this species long since banished from your plane.”
“Right. Because it being whole is the implausible part. Not the four-hundred-years-old-and-still-alive bit.” I looked at the shards of glass atop the desk. The papers stained from the liquid within. And no sign of any worm, half or otherwise. “Wait — don’t tell me I’ve gotta eat that thing.”
“Of course not,” she said. “You’re going to drink it. The whole bottle, in fact. Every drop.”
My stomach fluttered at the very thought of that worm thing sliding down my throat.
I nodded toward the desk. “Grigori didn’t drink the bottle down.”
“Grigori’s body courses with centuries of dark magic, and he’s long strengthened himself by feeding on the blood of others. He is no longer entirely human, even if his body is, or near enough. He has no need of the medicinal properties of the tincture in which the worm resides. It is a potent mélange of wormwood and peyote, psilocybin and belladonna, all steeped in pure grain alcohol. Believe me when I tell you, you’re going to want to be drunk for what happens next.”
“And what happens next?”
“As I said, this bottle contains but half a worm. The mouth-bearing half, to be precise. The, uh, bottom half is somewhere else. Once you consume it, it will, well, cause you to generate a sac of sorts, much like the one you see at your feet. Its other half will do the same. Within the cocoon, the worm will feed on you, causing your vessel to be digested. Fear not, it derives no sustenance from your meat; what it gleans its energy from is the molecular resonance which anchors you to this particular plane of existence. The creature itself exists across many planes at once, which is why it can be split in two without injury. Once it’s done with you, you will pass, reassembled, like so much refuse from its system. This worm was long used whole to facilitate astral projection, for in its normal feeding cycle, the victim would simply experience wild hallucinations only to awaken precisely where they were they began. But a few dark mages realized its potential for physical transport as well.”
She handed the bottle to me. I eyed it dubiously. “So I drink this, and then get eaten, and then get shit out someplace else?”
“The same someplace else as Grigori, one imagines. The bottle, you see, is unlabeled, and if the crate is any indication, one of six — though two more, it seems, are missing, given I’d assume to Drustanus and Yseult — so it’s doubtful they lead to different locations.”
“What if he — or they — are waiting for me on the other side?”
“A possibility,” she said. “In which case, I recommend you kill them before they kill you — as is your intent in chasing them anyway. But I doubt they will be.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
She nodded to the mass of organic matter on the floor, which was decaying before our very eyes, and in so doing, releasing a gag-inducing stink that didn’t serve to calm my already mutinous stomach. “Because that,” she said. “And this, remember, is just the mouth-end.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“Mind your tongue, Collector. The point is, they’re not likely to stick around at the other end of their makeshift sidereal conduit, not when it could potentially be used to follow them. And anyways, Grigori’s got several hours’ head-start on you, so there’s a chance he and his fellow Brethren’s trail will prove long cold by the time that you arrive.”
“This plan of yours sounds better by the minute,” I said. “I get eaten by a worm and then maybe ambushed or maybe find the place deserted.”
“I fear you haven’t any other options at this point, Collector. But take heart, this mode of transport does have its benefits.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“It’s the only way that poor meat-suit of yours gets out of here alive.”
“And what about you?”
“Oh, I can take my leave of this place any time I want,” she said, striking a dramatic pose and vanishing, only to reappear a moment later across the room. “But somebody’s got to stay and clean up Grigori’s mess before it spreads beyond this little hamlet to the world at large. These poor women are too far gone to save, but not yet too powerful to kill.”
“So you get to go all Buffy, and I wind up worm food?”
Lilith smiled. “My dear Collector, you wound up worm food long ago. Now drink up. You’ve a bad guy to kill.”
I uncorked the bottle. Watched the grub-looking worm thingy wriggle toward the surface, its front end opening into a four-pointed star of a mouth, exposing a pink interior ringed all around with tiny teeth. Got dizzy from the sight, and from the tincture’s noxious fumes.
And then, eyes closed, I drank.
17.
I downed the contents of the bottle in five quick gulps, draining dry a liter’s worth of booze in seconds, save for the stray rivulets that escaped my lips to run down my chin and neck.