Spencer’s phone was on silent because nothing was worse than trying to hide from the enemy when a ringtone announced your position. He pulled it out of his zipper pocket and ignored the notifications of a few missed calls and some texts in favor of texting Wade.Museum’s defenses were activated. SOA on the way.
Wade’s response was immediate.Don’t worry. I’ll get inside.
Oh, Spencer was going to fuckingworry, but he didn’t have time to lecture Wade on why property destruction was a bad thing. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and glared at the pulsating, flesh-covered walls around him and the way faces seemed to melt down them. The floor appeared covered in blood, but he couldn’t smell it. All he could smell was the sharpness of sulfur, that insidious marker of demons.
That, he knew, wasn’t part of the poltergeist’s illusion.
That was all hell.
“Let’s go,” Spencer said, mageglobe burning against his hand.
He tapped a ley line, reaching for that external river of power and leaning into its strength. If the worst-case scenario came due, he’d need it. Beyond that metaphysical river, he could sense the deep well of power that was the nexus beneath Seattle. It wasn’t shielded how it had been during the Battle of Samhain, and Spencer hoped it wouldn’t need to be.
He flung the witchlights ahead of him again, the scattered illumination streaking through the air like shooting stars. Fighting in the dark was risky for him, and Spencer wasn’t willing to lose light completely. As he made it past the ticketing area into the long gallery where the gala dinner had been held, he found a couple of hunters dead on the ground with their throats torn out and no further use for the assault rifles scattered around them.
Spencer hadn’t wanted to be seen by the SOA walking inside the museum with such a weapon—he’d have enough of a difficult time arguing his presence with Takoma anyway—but he wasn’t above scavenging one now that he didn’t have to worry about CCTV.
He shoved an extra magazine into the front pocket of his flak vest before bracing the buttstock against his shoulder, hands automatically settling into position to fire as he moved left toward the side gallery. The bullets were spelled, the ghost of that power making his fingertips tingle inside his glove. The hunters meant to use the weapons against vampires, but Spencer knew most magic users never expected a projectile weapon to get through their magic. He figured the Cascade Coven had some hubris he could shoot through.
The haunting grew stronger, and the cold got worse. The smell of sulfur never disappeared, lingering in his nose as Spencer made his way toward the stairs. The public casting circle was on the fourth floor, and he needed to get up there before Caitlin led Takoma into what they all knew was a trap.
Her possessed coven members weren’t worth the effort to exorcise, so when Fatima came back from a quick scout of the next small gallery room to inform him of the threat ahead, Spencer didn’t bother to cage in the soul. He filled his mageglobe with a strike spell despite being in the heart of a major city and cast it forward through the archway. The explosion of magic up ahead was joined by a scream of agony. Magic that wasn’t Spencer’s crawled over the walls as the backlash from the hit shattered some of the wards keeping the surrounding artifacts safe.
That wasn’t what killed the coven member. Spencer’s spray of automatic fire to their face was what finally had the demon in its soul fleeing the body in a burst of negative light and thunderclap of sound. Fatima lunged for it, teeth snapping on its incorporeal self and swallowing it whole, its scream of rage echoing in Spencer’s ears as the demon disappeared.
Magic sparked away from the broken spells and wards, the artifacts in the room, once neatly contained, now accessible. A quick touch through his magic proved none in that room were useful, so Spencer kept moving. Fatima stalked ahead, being his eyes. That left him to watch their six.
Undead arms and hands seemed to extend from the archway ahead. Spencer knew it was just the haunting—John Adler’s reach amplified by whatever spellwork on the casting circle was feeding him power—but itfeltreal when he shoved his way through to the next side gallery. He knew the grasping fingers were all in his head, but the poltergeist’s reach was long in the museum built by John Adler’s descendants.
Gunfire echoed from the floor above, mixing with screams and shouts from Caitlin’s people. He wondered how many of Takoma’s vampires had managed to make it inside the museum before the barrier ward was raised. He only hoped they’d be enough to keep Takoma safe until he could find the Ouroboros Mirror.
Stairs, Fatima said.
“I see them,” Spencer said.
She darted ahead to scout and called back an all clear. Spencer hurried after her, skin prickling with the feeling of being watched. He sent witchlights through the next archway and spun them up the stairs to light the way. He reached the stairs right as the building shook as if an earthquake had hit, but the rocking was caused by magic.
Spencer kept his footing, then swore as he sensed the defensive wards on the ground floor start to connect in a way that would lock down every gallery. The glimmer of magic had him lurching toward the stairs as it sought to keep him from accessing the next floor. Spencer double-timed it up the stairs, magic bleeding through the air around him, the pressure weighing on his shoulders like he was carrying a heavy load for a twenty-klick run.
The haunting around Spencer grew deeper, ice forming across the stairs as he worked his way up. When he reached the landing on the second floor, Fatima was already heading up to the third, and he turned to follow.
Pressure in the air exploded around him as an otherworldly force sent Spencer flying. He hit the gallery floor and rolled through the impact, twisting to his knees right as Fatima yowled a warning. Spencer pulled the trigger on his assault rifle, forcing the blurred shadow aiming for him to cut left.
Spencer scrambled to his feet, glaring at where Rufus stood amidst a half dozen display cases showing off a collection of creepy, possessed dolls. The demons trapped in those inanimate objects were using their toy prisons to pound against the glass keeping them locked up.
“You’re real fucking annoying,” Spencer snapped as he moved his finger off the trigger guard and curled it over the trigger.
Rufus bared his fangs, nails more like claws as he blurred away from the spray of bullets Spencer aimed his way. He missed hitting the master vampire, but the bullets tore into the walls and wards in the gallery, ripping at the spellwork around them, though they did nothing to the haunting. Spencer conjured up a mageglobe, holding it steady as he turned on his feet to try to keep the vampire in sight. Spencer knew he couldn’t outrun the vampire, especially not when what felt like vines wrapped around his ankles andyanked.
Spencer!Fatima shouted.
He crashed to the floor, catching himself on one hand in time so he didn’t break his nose or give himself a concussion. The poltergeist reached through the haunting for him, and while the image of fleshy vines twining up his legs was only manifested energy, they still dragged him across the floor. His attention split, giving Rufus an opportunity to attack.
Fatima leaped at the master vampire with a snarl, clawing at his face and forcing him back. Spencer used those precious few seconds to cast a mageglobe at the manifestation of the haunting trapping his legs and ripped the energy to pieces. Then he cast another mageglobe in the vampire’s direction, letting loose a low-level shockwave spell that sent the asshole flying backward.
Spencer got to his feet, checked his assault rifle, and looked at where Rufus should have been—only now, he was joined by a coven member. In the glow of Spencer’s witchlights, the coven member’s black eyes were all the confirmation Spencer needed of the demon riding their soul.
“Our Duke wants you dead,” the demon said.
