LITMIR.BIZ

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A blood traitor. A mongrel. An assassin. A murderer.” He practically spit out the last word. “You are alone among your kind and mine. A bloodthirsty shadow. You do anything for anyone who can pay you enough for it. That makes you more than a mercenary. That makes you a whore.”

      I affected a bored stance. I’d been called most of those names before. Well, except for my own name. That was new—and a little disconcerting. Not that I’d let him know that.

      “Are you done whining? Because I don’t have time to listen while you stall.”

      “Aren’t you being paid by the hour?” he asked nastily.

      “I charge a flat fee.”

      “Oh.”

      I rolled my eyes and touched the wand to the shoe again. This time, I thrust the full force of my will into it, drawing upon my own body’s physical stamina as well as some of the power of the world around me. “No more games. If you leave on your own, I won’t have to hurt you. Come out.”

      He couldn’t stand against that command and the power within it. The shoe trembled, and smoke poured out of it. Oh, Jesus. I hoped the shoe didn’t get incinerated during this. Montgomery wouldn’t be able to handle that.

      The smoke bellowed out, coalescing into a large, dark form about two feet taller than me. With all his wisecracks, I’d sort of expected a saucy version of one of Santa’s elves. Instead, the being before me had the upper body of a well-muscled man, while his lower portion resembled a small cyclone. The smoke solidified into leathery gray-black skin, and I had only a moment to act as I assessed this new development. I swapped the wand for the gun, ejecting the clip as I pulled it out. By then, he was lunging for me, and I had to roll out of his way, confined by the circle’s boundaries.

      A keres. A male keres—most unusual. I’d anticipated something fey, which required silver bullets; or a spectre, which required no bullets. Keres were ancient death spirits originally confined to canopic jars. When the jars wore down over time, keres tended to seek out new homes. There weren’t too many of them left in this world, and soon there’d be one less.

      He bore down on me, and I took a nice chunk out of him with the silver blade. I used my right hand, the one I wore an onyx and obsidian bracelet on. Those stones alone would take a toll on a death spirit like him without the blade’s help. Sure enough, he hissed in pain and hesitated a moment. I used that delay, scrambling to load the silver cartridge.

      I didn’t quite make it, because soon he was on me again. He hit me with one of those massive arms, slamming me against the walls of the circle. They might be transparent, but they felt as solid as bricks. One of the downsides of trapping a spirit in a circle was that I got trapped too. My head and left shoulder took the brunt of that impact, and pain shot through me in small starbursts. He seemed pretty pleased with himself over this, as overconfident villains so often are.

      “You’re as strong as they say, but you were a fool to try to cast me out. You should have left me in peace.” His voice was deeper now, almost gravelly.

      I shook my head, both to disagree and to get rid of the dizziness. “It isn’t your shoe.”

      I still couldn’t swap that goddamned cartridge. Not with him ready to attack again, not with both hands full. Yet I couldn’t risk dropping either weapon.

      He reached for me, and I cut him again. The wounds were small, but the athame was like poison. It would wear him down over time—if I could stay alive that long. I moved to strike at him once more, but he anticipated me and seized hold of my wrist. He squeezed it, bending it in an unnatural position and forcing me to drop the athame and cry out. I hoped he hadn’t broken any bones. Smug, he grabbed me by the shoulders with both hands and lifted me up so that I hung face to face with him. His eyes were yellow with slits for pupils, much like some sort of snake’s. His breath was hot and reeked of decay as he spoke.

      “You are small, Eugenie Markham, but you are lovely and your flesh is warm. Perhaps I should beat the rush and take you myself. I’d enjoy hearing you scream beneath me.”

      Ew. Had that thing just propositioned me? And there was my name again. How in the world did he know that? None of them knew that. I was only Odile to them, named after the dark swan in Swan Lake, a name coined by my stepfather because of the form my spirit preferred to travel in while visiting the Otherworld. The name—though not particularly terrifying—had stuck, though I doubted any of the creatures I fought knew the reference. They didn’t really get out to the ballet much.

      The keres had my upper arms pinned—I would have bruises tomorrow—but my hands and forearms were free. He was so sure of himself, so overly arrogant and confident, that he paid no attention to my struggling hands. He probably just perceived the motion as a futile effort to free myself. In seconds, I had the clip out and in the gun. I managed one clumsy shot and he dropped me—not gently. I stumbled to regain my balance again. Bullets probably couldn’t kill him, but a silver one in the center of his chest would certainly hurt.

      He stumbled back, half-surprised, and I wondered if he’d ever even encountered a gun before. It fired again, then again and again and again. The reports were loud; hopefully Montgomery wouldn’t do something foolish and come running in. The keres roared in outrage and pain, each shot making him stagger backward until he was all the way against the circle’s boundary. I advanced on him, retrieved athame flashing in my hand. In a few quick motions, I carved the death symbol on the part of his chest that wasn’t bloodied from bullets. An electric charge immediately ran through the air of the circle. Hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and I could smell ozone, like just before a storm.

      He screamed and leapt forward, renewed by rage or adrenaline or whatever else these creatures ran on. But it was too late for him. He was marked and wounded. I was ready. In another mood, I might have simply banished him to the Otherworld; I tried not to kill if I didn’t have to. But that sexual suggestion had just been out of line. I was pissed off now. He’d go to the world of death, straight to Persephone’s gate.

      I fired again to slow him, my aim a bit off with the left hand but still good enough to hit him. I had already traded the athame for the wand. This time, I didn’t draw on the power from this plane. With well-practiced ease, I let part of my consciousness slip this world. In moments, I reached the crossroads to the Otherworld. That was an easy transition; I did it all the time. The next crossover was a little harder, especially with me being weakened from the fight, but still nothing I couldn’t do automatically. I kept my own spirit well outside of the land of death, but I touched it and sent that connection through the wand. It sucked him in, and his face twisted with fear.

      “This is not your world,” I said in a low voice, feeling the power burn through me and around me. “This is not your world, and I cast you out. I send you to the black gate, to the lands of death where you can either be reborn or fade to oblivion or burn in the flames of hell. I really don’t give a shit. Go.”

      He screamed, but the magic caught him. There was a trembling in the air, a buildup of pressure, and then it ended abruptly, like a deflated balloon. The keres was gone too, leaving only a shower of gray sparkles that soon faded to nothing.

      Silence. I sank to my knees, exhaling deeply. My eyes closed a moment, as my body relaxed and my consciousness returned to this world. I was exhausted but exultant too. Killing him had felt good. Heady, even. He’d gotten what he deserved, and I had been the one to deal it out.

      Minutes later, some of my strength returned. I stood and opened the circle, suddenly feeling stifled by it. I put my tools and weapons away and went to find Montgomery.

      “Your shoe’s been exorcised,” I told him flatly. “I killed the ghost.” No point in explaining the difference between a keres and a true ghost; he wouldn’t understand.

      He entered the room with slow steps, picking up the shoe gingerly. “I heard gunshots. How do you use bullets on a ghost?”

      I shrugged. It hurt from where the keres had slammed my shoulder to the wall. “It was a strong ghost.”

      He cradled the shoe like one might

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