Page 47 of Transfiguration
“It’s a little like the vampire wars again,” Con said. He’d been a lot younger and less powerful back then and feared every time Sam left the house it would be his last.
“Let’s hope there is less bloodshed this time,” the driver said. “You have people waiting at this location? I’m not allowed to drop you off if no one is there.”
“Sam.” Everyone knew Sam.
The driver nodded. “Good.”
The location Sam had sent Con was outside the city, and the driver couldn’t get close due to police crime scene tape. Con frowned at it as it stretched for miles, but Sam waited for him at the end of a drive that led into the trees. The driver stopped and Con climbed out, not liking the worried expression on Sam’s face. Not much worried Sam. And what scared Superman should scare them all, right?
He waved the driver off, expecting he’d find his way back with Sam. Con reached for Sam, who wrapped him in a hug for a minute. Sam was shaking.
“Babe?” Con asked.
“Just give me a minute,” Sam said with his face buried in Con’s shoulder. “Rou and Santini will be here soon.”
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
A minivan pulled up next to the turnoff a minute later, parking and lights turned off. Rou got out of the driver’s side, and Con watched Santini get out of the passenger side. He looked better than Con remembered of him fresh from the ground, more alive and not as wild-eyed. Though his hair was still an unruly mess of blond curls, and he sported a trimmed beard Con knew hadn’t been his norm before vanishing for over a decade. Were he and Rou back together? They weren’t growling at each other the second they got out of the car. Seiran looked tired but stepped around the vehicle and reached for Gabe’s hand. Santini gave him a gentle look, and they headed toward Sam and Con.
“No frog jammies?” Sam asked Seiran.
Seiran sighed. “No banter. This is bad, right? Bigger than we thought?”
“Looks like,” Sam said. “Seems they are woven with the Dominion? Maybe other groups too, like HF, or even the Fellowship.”
Con frowned. “What am I missing?”
“I want to learn what you know about all of this,” Seiran said.
“Aren’t you the big bad investigator?” Con asked. “I’m just a glorified courier.”
“Mhmm,” Seiran said, his gaze narrowed on Con. “I know exactly what you do. I have access to all the Fellowship files now. Best solve rate in the organization forjust a glorified courier. Finding objects, books, and spelled items that centuries of witches have only rumors of even existing. Breaking into places more protected than Fort Knox without leaving so much as a hint that you were there?”
Con didn’t know what to say to that. His solve rate was good. He didn’t think it was best in the Fellowship, but had never cared to ask. He did the job they paid him for and enjoyed the challenge.
Sam tugged Con toward the trail leading into the woods. “Warning, it still stinks. Even with the bodies removed, the entire area smells like death.”
“And sulfur,” Seiran added. “Like demons.”
That was shit for news. “Met a lot of demons?” Con asked.
“Only one, and it was enough,” Seiran said.
Con followed them through a long, dark path that had probably been some sort of gravel driveway. They wove around police tape, though there were no lingering police, and a cabin finally came into view in the distance. The stink hit Con’s senses before they’d gotten even half a football field away. Sulfur and death, but underneath something else. Weirdly floral?
“What is that flower smell?” Con asked, having to pull his sleeve up over his nose. It was a sort of sickly-sweet scent, not exactly like horse shit covered in perfume, but close.
“Zombies,” Gabe said.
Con paused, dragging Sam to a stop as he looked around the area. Were there zombies here now? Nothing moved. In fact, not even bugs or birds stirred. This late at night, in woods like these, there should be noise. Crickets at the very least, but it felt like a vacuum of sound.
An old memory stirred. Something Con had buried deep. He had to stop to keep himself from falling over when the realization hit him. It was like the cabin where Kat had transitioned. The area blanketed in icy silence, absent of all life. It had been so long ago that he thought it was his imagination.
The memory of it was visceral, a carving of death into every ounce of space, draining life from the soil itself. A gaping hole in the fabric of magic dropping into an abyss. Was this what a demon felt like? Like all those years ago, when he’d been a young and untrained witch, it felt suffocating. A vacuum of nothingness pulling him down. He vividly remembered teetering on the edge of insanity. He watched Kat die and reawaken as a vampire. She stalked toward him, her expression that of a monster starving for blood. He had expected to die when she ripped into his throat, only he’d passed out to wake later and find her sitting with his head in her lap, stroking his hair and humming. Bloody tears dripped from her eyes, and when she saw he was awake, she sobbed apologies. Though it didn’t stop her from attacking him again, feeding from him. Even if she healed him, words could never tear away the memories, pain, and betrayal.
That void of power, the suction of all living things, kept ripping the humanity from her. His blood would bring her back, sometimes only for minutes. He hadn’t understood it. The sensation was unfamiliar. Now it brought a rise of terror into his gut. What if it took Sam?
“Con,” Sam said, stepping in close. “Breathe, baby.” His arms were solid and bruising in their grip, as Sam hugged him tight. “I’ve got you.”