Hunt the Moon

Make that shrink-wrapped cellophane, because in another second it had molded to every inch of my body, including my nose and mouth and eyes. I struggled furiously, feeling the possessed mage approach, even though I couldn’t turn my head to see him. I also couldn’t twitch a finger or contract my throat to swallow or blink my drying eyes or—

Or anything.

Suddenly, it was like being in the bathtub all over again, unable to move or breathe or even to cry out for help. And isn’t that just the wrong analogy? I thought, as stark terror hit me like a fist. My heart sped out of control, my palms started sweating, and my stomach twisted violently, until I was sure I was going to be sick right here.

In desperation, I tried to shift, because I needed to go only a foot or so. But this time, nothing happened. I could close my eyes and see the bright, familiar energy, like an ocean of power sparkling in the sunlight. But I couldn’t reach it. It was trapped by the weird, cottony feeling in my head, just like the bracelet that formed my only weapon lay locked tight and useless between me and the wall.

And then the mage came up alongside.

The pleasant-looking face didn’t look so pleasant anymore, distorted by the thick, wavy barrier like an image in a fun house mirror. But I could see him pretty well anyway, because he bent close, close, so very close. Like he wanted to see my expression at the end.

Only the end didn’t come.

Of course not, I thought blankly. Why waste the energy to kill me when all he had to do was stand by and watch me suffocate? I was trapped like an animal, splayed out like a trophy already mounted on the wall. Any minute now I was going to go from living human being to useless piece of meat, those pitch-black eyes watching as my spirit finally gave up the fight and left my lifeless—

My spirit.

Some idea skittered across my brain, just out of reach. I couldn’t grasp it, could barely think at all, because I was panicking—oh yes, I was—even though someone had warned me about that, had said it was the very best way to die in a situation where you didn’t have to. And he’d said something else, something he’d pounded into my head so many times I’d gotten sick of the very word—

An image of a pair of furious green eyes floated across my vision. Assess. The problem. Now.

Okay, okay. For some reason, help couldn’t get to me, so I needed to get to help.

Address.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Not an inch, so how could I—

But that wasn’t right. My body couldn’t move. My spirit was a totally different thing. Because I was Pythia. And Pythias could leave their bodies, could shift into other people’s, could—

But I couldn’t shift, at least not now. And that meant I couldn’t reach the safety of another body, couldn’t do anything except...

Step out.

Yes, I could do that. I could just leave my body behind as if I’d already died. But since I hadn’t yet, it should serve as an anchor holding me to this world. But I didn’t really see the point, as it would leave me merely an unhoused spirit, no better than a ghost. Worse, in fact, since a ghost had a renewable source of energy, and mine would be left behind as soon as I—

As soon as—

As soon—

I couldn’t think, couldn’t finish the thought, because I was losing consciousness. And that meant end and that meant fail and that meant death, and whatever I was going to do, I had to do it, I had to—

Act.

And then I was stumbling backward, dizzy and disoriented and sick, but not as sick as when I caught sight of my body. Tiny and pale and helpless, it lay huddled against the wall, hair smushed around distorted features, face bleached bone white out of fear. The same fear that had one hand locked, white-knuckled, on the edge of a door, a door it couldn’t go through.

But I could, and I didn’t waste any time, diving past the mage and my own almost corpse and into the blessed darkness of the hall.

I called for Billy, desperately, because if anyone knew about these kinds of things, it was him. But either he was out for the count or he’d gone off somewhere, because I didn’t even get a blip in response. This time, it looked like I was on my own.

That was true even when I finally found my bodyguards hanging out in a spare bedroom, playing poker. And weren’t they just looking relaxed. Ties were loosened, collars were popped and a bucket of ice sat on the floor with a dozen frosty longnecks poking out of the top. I guess so they wouldn’t have to make the huge trek all the way to the kitchen.

Where, you know, they might have seen someone trying to kill me.

“Comfy?” I asked harshly, but of course nobody heard.

I watched them play cards for a second, happy and carefree and unconcerned about the knife-wielding mage prowling the apartment or my trip to la-la land or anything but their stupid, stupid game, which I sent flying with a sudden swipe of my hand. Bills fluttered, chips flew, and cards reshuffled themselves all over the floor. And that was before I tipped over their damn card table.

Of course, I knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The name of the game for ghosts was to preserve energy. To guard every tiny scrap carefully, jealously, spending it in little dribs and drabs and only when absolutely necessary. Because to run out was to die.

But I was about to die anyway, and I didn’t give a crap about the rules. I wasn’t trying to conserve energy; I was spending it all in one last, crazy spree. At least I’ll go out with a bang, I thought, laughing hysterically. And then I grabbed a beer and threw it at the nearest vamp’s head.

I missed, but it made a satisfying thump when it hit the wall, so I did it again. And again and again as the vamps stumbled back, knocking over chairs and staring around wildly. Several pulled guns, but they had nothing to shoot.

“Why do I have bodyguards, huh?” I yelled, throwing a bottle against the dresser, which exploded with a satisfying crash.

“What is the freaking point?” Another hit the mirror, leaving a big web of cracks radiating out from the center.

“We have to watch you sleep, Cassie!” Thud.

“And eat, Cassie!” Bang.

“And paint your freaking toenails, Cassie!” Smash.

“And dog your every step, Cassie!” Splinter.

“But when someone is actually trying to kill me, what the hell are you doing?” A bottle took out the overhead fixture, shattering the decorative shell and raining sparks down onto the already freaked-out vampires.

And then I stopped, not because I’d run out of things to say, but because one of the vamps had caught sight of the mysteriously floating beer bottle. And it seemed to piss him off. “I have had enough of this shit,” he announced viciously, lining up a shot.

I didn’t bother moving; I just waggled the bottle provocatively. “Want it, motherfucker? Want it? Then come get it!” And then I ran like hell.

A bullet smashed into the wall beside me, another shattered a hallway light and a third tore through a pretty little painting, drilling the girl on the swing straight between the eyes. I didn’t care; I was more concerned about the girl on the wall, who was looking pretty damn blue and pretty damn dead. I stopped for a split second, staring in horror at my slack features and my lifeless face, and then I was merging with my poor abused body and—

Nothing.

Blackness.

Cold.

So cold.