Sigh.
The bat-serpents wheeled away. Roger’s warbling cries continued. The bat-serpents’ flew chaotically as their riders shouted counter orders at them.
At the horizon, the tower pulsed again. The thin red line grew brighter.
No more time to waste.
Things had to be done.
And suddenly, he had a terrible idea of how to get there.
A truly awful idea.
Unfortunately, it was the only one he had.
He spun his chair around. Came face to face with the spiky, shimmery form of the black angel. He angled his seat away from it and snapped his fingers at Odom.
“Get up off that corpse,” he said.
Odom frowned. “I do not take orders from clowns.”
Hilario yanked at his fluffy purple wig. Bit back a scream of frustration.
“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you, you useless hunk of metal,” Hilario said, “Because no one else is volunteering to do anything. Now MOVE!”
Odom opened his mouth to speak. But seemed to think better of it. Glowering, he got his big, heroic metal butt off Lord Igidbon’s corpse.
“Rachel,” Hilario said.
Rachel didn’t look up. Kept doing whatever she was trying to do to the still mostly unconscious Sapphire Witch.
“Rachel!” Hilario said, “Can you shield us? Can you keep them from seeing if we use magic?”
“Yes. To a certain extent,” Rachel said, “There are limits…”
“Good. Do it. Put a shield around the van.”
“Hilario, I have to reach Sapphire,” she said, “We need her.”
“Oh for heckity hecks sake,” Hilario said.
He moved off the seat. Desperately careful to avoid contact with the black angel. He grabbed Rachel by her shoulders and pulled her off the Sapphire Witch.
“Hilario!” she cried.
He turned her around to face him. “A shield. Now. Please.”
Her lips pressed to a thin line. Her dark eyes searched his. Then she nodded. She closed her eyes and raised her hands. Her fingers splayed out. The green fire danced up her arms and between her fingers.
He felt a pulse of power pass through him. It was clean, positive power. Not like the dark powers, or even the gray powers. Not as pure as the light energy he collected. But still, pure in its own way.
“There,” she said, “It won’t last long. Do whatever you need to do quickly.”
The stupidness he planned shouldn’t take long at all. If it worked.
He pulled his soiled, sweat soaked, white gloves off his sausage fingered hands. Oh, this was a bad thing. Very bad. Why was he even thinking of doing this?
Complete and utter desperation. That’s why.
Oh, right. Reason for everything and such. And…
Oh, just get on with it already.
He unlocked his dwindling reserve of light energy. Flowed it down to the fingers of his left hand. Reached out…
Oh, why was he doing this?
Touched the ghost of Larry Sparrow.
Larry jerked upright. Yanked his ghostly face around with a look of horror.
Think that’s bad, Larry? Wait until the next part.
Larry’s ghost swirled into a point of light. Hilario closed his fingers around it. Moved toward the back of the van. Careful to keep his concentration so the ghost didn’t get absorbed into his own body.
He kneeled next to Lord Igibon’s body. His knees whimpered in protest. Almost broke his concentration. He squeezed his eyes shut. Found his focus again.
He charged light energy down his right arm. Extended his arm toward Lord Igidbon’s forehead.
The dark lord had one milky eye half open. The other was crusted shut with blood. His mouth hung open.
That was helpful.
He put his right hand on the dark lord’s flesh.
Fought back the vomitous urge to recoil from the residual evil soaked in there.
Oh this was such a bad thing he was doing.
He forced himself to find the pathways of the dark lord’s empty mind. The blank places were his consciousness had once sat.
He ran his hand down to Igidbon’s mouth. Forced the lips apart a little wider.
Then he took his other hand–the hand with Larry Sparrow’s spirit–and put that precious ball of light into Igidbon’s mouth.
Someone behind him gasped. Rachel, Marco, Odom–he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all three.
He couldn’t stop now. Oh, he was going to bad places for this. Wait, he was already there. Okay, he was going to even worse bad places.
He forced Igidbon’s mouth closed. Put both hands on the sides of Igidbon’s face. Guided the writhing and confused spirit of Larry Sparrow into the dark lord’s empty seat of consciousness.
The spirit tried to bolt, but Hilario locked it into place. Forced it down the pathways. Filled the body with a new, unwilling spirit.
The body convulsed. The heart didn’t beat. But it didn’t need to. Magic could animate it for the small amount of time they needed it for.
A moan escaped the dead lord’s lips. The eyes fluttered. Opened. Focused.
On him.
The throat worked. A single, raspy word came out.
“Why?”
62
He was never going to get the stink out of that seat.
He’d have to rip it out of the van and burn it. Throw it into a molten river of lava and hope the stench of Lord Igidbon’s blood would finally dissipate.
Of course, he was jumping to conclusions. Making a gigantic assumption. Looking on the sunny side of life.
That his life would return to a normal enough state that he would have time for trivial things like getting the stink out of his van.
Or that he would still be alive in the next few minutes.
But first, he had one more thing to take care of before Rachel’s magic shield dissipated.
He turned away from the Larry animated corpse of Lord Igidbon in the passenger seat. He avoided the dead, accusing eyes his friend stared out of. Tried not to think of the dark, ichorous
