A Lower Deep

him eventually. Regardless, no one in this age has your skills as a summoner, not even me, and I need your help in raising one other dead man.'

'Who? Who's worth all of this?'

'We're going to force Christ into returning to earth a little faster than he'd apparently like.'

Self giggled and said, Way cool!

Insanity like a dream holds its own internal reality. Besides vision one needed belief-truth, if necessary, would follow later. The thought tickled me. Jebediah DeLancre, lord of the djinn and of everyone I'd ever loved-in sheer audacity, if there was anybody capable of being father to God, it was he. Telling Jebediah that he was insane would only be repeating myself.

He said, 'You know it isn't out of the question. He was a man.'

'Ascended bodily to Heaven.'

'I think not. Study my research. There are volumes I own that you've only heard of in rumors and legend. Imagine what comprehension and insight he holds on the Sephiroth and Sephirah, on the Infernal hierarchies and the lowest circles, and God Himself.'

'You don't want to do this.'

'We could force our way into paradise and sit at His left hand.' That tooth shone against his lip like the spear point used to stab Christ in the side. 'It's why we need to raise our coven again. I need their aid from the other side, to bring Christ closer to us. They're already near. You'll need blood.'

'No,' I said, at last understanding what the game was, and who the players were. I moved but wasn't going to make it in time. He'd already drawn his athame from his vest pocket, and with one fluid stroke he cut Bridgett's throat.

Her eyes widened in shock but there was something else there too as she stared at Jebediah and the knife, fingers coming up to toy with the heaving flaps of slashed flesh at her throat. I suppose she'd been half expecting him to murder her the entire time.

Bridgett pirouetted and flopped over into Gawain's arms. Blood geysered and spattered Danielle's burial dress. Thummim danced beneath the arching stream, and Self too fed on her arterial spray, gulping loudly. They hugged each other with their mouths open, mother and son sharing quality time, the power of corrupted blood flowing through us all.

'Why so unhappy?' Jebediah asked. 'You would've had to kill her soon enough yourself. She had a few mannerisms that reminded me of Danielle. I'm sure you noticed as well. Odd, wasn't it? So different but with so many of the same attributes, and her ploy worked. She wasn't particularly adept despite her sensual glamour. Believe me, her sexual promises were exaggerated boasts.'

My back teeth clacked together. It was a setup, all right.

Would you rather be dead?

'This isn't about Christ,' I said. 'You simply want to be with Peck in the Crown again.'

Jebediah ignored me. Gawain held Bridgett and surprised me by actually weeping, his alabaster skin streaked with red. Death he understood but betrayal did not exist in his brutally honest mind. Her sex poured in a puddle surrounding him. Gawain was perhaps the most noble of our coven, or merely the least hampered by being human. He remained something that was both more and less than the rest of us: the child, the beast, and the sage evolved beyond any hint of the commonplace. His seared eyes searched for me, mouth aquiver with tears as he growled his dissatisfaction with these events unfolding. It scared the hell out of me because I knew that if this was enough to make him cry, then we were into something awful.

Jebediah scribbled symbols before Gawain's face, explaining himself. 'She's not the Maiden of the new Coven. I've found someone substantially more talented.'

'I can hardly wait to meet her,' I said.

'You will on Oimelc, the Feast of Lights. Well have the glory we once did. Danielle will live again on Oimelc. Whole, as she was. As you and all of us loved her.'

'That's impossible.'

'I've tracked and collected each portion of her soul. She can be yours, alive, the way she was meant to be, if only you'll rejoin me. Think of it. Your love in your arms, with the chance for true happiness, even a family. That's all you've been dreaming of these last ten years.'

'You maniac, you've no shame at all.'

He pulled back his arm and slapped me with a palm covered with Bridgett's blood, then backhanded me, and did it again. 'Now summon them, damn you! That's all you've ever been good for! Call them! Do what you must!'

I did.

I summoned myself.

With my arms outstretched and hands flat against the icy tombs, the waves of energy pounded and revolved about me. My words were clear in an amalgam of antediluvian languages, both human and non-human. Self fell over quivering, caught up in the maelstrom. Thummim rocked him, squealing. I wondered what Christ might actually say to us face-to-face, and how jealous God would become, and whether we'd ever be forgiven.

So close, my love. Our forgotten youth, the feel of your thigh on my cheek, the way I dragged you into an abyss of my own making. If only my father had possessed a bit more foresight, or been a little stronger, maybe we all would have survived our pursuits.

I called forth friends and enemies alike. Elijah's ghost had its hands in front of my face trying to show me something that swayed before my eyes. Maybe it was his heart, maybe someone else's. His mammoth rage was red.

Jebediah had shrouded his soul within the heart of the dead coven, hiding among those he'd destroyed. I shouted, 'You goddamned coward!' and snagged a silver cord in my psychic teeth. Janus and his children from Fuceas urged me on. Snapping first one, then another and another, I watched the ghosts kicking and stirring. All the while I made entreaties to Azreal to release their spirits. Jebediah hadn't expected anyone to toy with his own incantations, and he looked startled seeing me snarling in the crypts. Self realized my intent and worked at the tangled spells. Relax, relax, I'm here, he said. Leave this to me. Continue, get on with it.

I did. Griffin, Keeper of the Salamanders, had forgiven me, and helped unsnarl the souls. I cut the other lines but my coven didn't stray far, no matter how hard I shoved them off toward the afterlife. This wasn't going to work. What a waste. I locked gazes with my father and reached for him, praying that he was still in there and would remember, for a minute, our lives before the madness brought him here to his own murder.

I held out my hand and said, 'Dad?' My father bit me.

My blood dripped into the pool of Bridgett's blood on the ground. It was my will that coursed here, my resolution and no one else's. Nice thinking, Self said, but are you sure you know what you're doing?

Let's hope so.

I am. I do.

I called forward what I needed. My father guffawed and capered around the tombs. Thummim sat on his head and spun around with him. The sweet scent of maleficia and rage filled the crypt, and in the House of DeLancre I could hear the walking corpses shrieking in fear.

Far too late Jebediah cried, 'Wait . . . !'

The doorway to the altar filled with shadow.

And standing before us, smiling in all his sadistic eminence once again, strumming his lute and covered in snow, and with his hatred for witches and family as tangible as the six hundred people he'd once sent to the stake, stood the perverted witch killer Pierre DeLancre.

Chapter Five

Self said, Pierre, my man, lookin' dapper. Play us a new tune. Something with a backbeat.