I stopped, in the vision standing directly in front of them, and studied the bodies and the sparks. In each body, there were sparks of life and power. The one with two sparks was Alonso. One spark was as green as the sky above, as green as the knight himself. The other spark was red. In the other body there was a third thing, one I had no name for, this one not just a speck of darkness but a blackness so deep it seemed to be an entity all its own. Torquemada’s undeath, his tattered soul, and his demon.
I looked at the knight.Any suggestions on how I get the demon out?
He turned his head left, then right once.
I figured.
T. Laine had told me what to do. “Get in close, aim the vessel at the body, then open the lid and yank out the stake at the exact same moment. And hope for the best.”
Bring that body to the surface, please.I indicated the one with two sparks and a darkness.Remove the thorns when it’s on the surface, but leave the stake in place. And then get out of the way.
The knight gave a scant nod. I opened my eyes.
On the surface, only a foot from my knees, the dirt began to quiver and shake. The ground rolled aside in miniature landslides, and the body began to appear. Wrapped with pliable roots. Skin pale as moonlight. Drained of what blood he once carried. Dirty and smeared with his own blood. Pierced with thorns. Hundreds of thorns, all over him, the viny roots wrapped tight around every limb, every digit. The land and the knight had drank down his blood, sharing the sustenance.
Tomás’ clothes were ragged. His hair was gnarled and matted with soil, blood, and thorns. His fangs were fully out, three inches long. His beard was thin and pointed. On his chest was an old scar, a cross-shaped wound, like a healed burn. Silver-branded vampire flesh. Had he been branded by placing a silver cross on his chest? His dark eyes were open but sightless, vamped out, blacker than the night sky. Dirt coated the surface of the eyeballs.
In my mind I heard Mud murmur,Gross.
I wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t funny. Not at all.
As I watched, the thorns all slowly withdrew. They made soft sounds of suction as they left the flesh, faintsquicks. The roots rolled to the side and coiled upon the ground. The tips quivered slightly. The knight wasn’t pulling them beneath the earth.
The stake was still in place. I’d have to reach over his naked leg to grip it and there wasn’t a lot of the stake protruding from the belly. I’d have to shove my hand against his cold undead flesh to grip it. Mud had been right.Gross.
I repositioned the vessel between my knees, setting the Blood Tarot on the body, beside the stake. I reached to Tomás and pressed my fingers against his undead, blood-smeared flesh. His body was cold as the grave.
Something halfway between horror and hysteria burbled inthe back of my throat for a moment before I squelched it. The breath I took shuddered. I shoved at the cold flesh, trying to push it away from the stake, but the stake moved with it. I shoved harder, as if trying to compress his belly to his spine. The stake went too, back and forth with the surface of Tomás’ belly.
I was going to need tools. Like John’s pliers in the covered back porch. I started to speak when T. Laine knelt on the far side of me. She was holding a pair of fifteen-inch-long straight-nose locking pliers.
“Not my first unstaking,” she said. She opened the locked pliers nose a little wider than the end of the stake. Gently, she shoved the jaws down along the stake and inside the flesh. She locked them tight on either side of the stake. “I’ll unstake. Do me a favor. Don’t drop the vessel.”
“I promise.” I blew out a breath and stretched my shoulders.
“On three,” she said, “like, one, two, three, and then open the vessel.”
I gave a jerky nod.
“One. Two,” she said, establishing rhythm. “Three.”
Everything happened at once, overlapping, overlaying, like Aya shuffling the tarot deck.
She yanked the stake.
I twisted the lid.
Tomás de Torquemada leaped to his feet.
A millisecond later, the vessel’s top fell open.
T. Laine dropped back.
Tomás de Torquemada fell upon her.
The vessel roared with a silence so intense it stole every sound from the world.
His fangs buried in Lainie’s throat.
