Wyntress Nyght's Supernatural Crack Exes and Hexes

Excerpt

Chapter Five
Lay It Out on the Coffin

Harsh, hungry flames whipped against everything in their unforgiving path. Heat blistered throughout the Rave while broken fragments fell and burned profusely. My body was nearly snapped in half by the thrust of the explosion, and I was slammed across the building against an unbending wall that became my wrecking ball of hate. Pain clawed its way up through my backside as I lay trapped, unable to move because the gray exterior of the Rave that I so loved had vanished underneath the flames.

Muscles clenching from mind-screeching discomfort, I wondered if I could summon up enough strength to crawl out of there. Hopefully, my body would heal fast enough, because it didn't look as if I had much time. My breath struggled against splintered ribs and what felt like a crushed chest. My lungs tightened and stabbed with pain. The thick smoke didn't help. I tried to swallow my discomfort and focus, despite the ceiling beginning to crumble. Chunks of burning debris and various pieces of masonry collapsed all around me. I could smell burning flesh and fur among everything else. What was left of the Rave was silent of anything but greedy flame.

Flint . . . Jinx . . . Draven . . . are you ok?

Those thoughts were the only thing that brought me to my feet. I struggled to sort out what happened, but I couldn't see Spar or anyone I knew. I tripped over a charred corpse and fell over, causing my skull to bounce off a metal pole. I couldn't sense movement, but I could hear the crackling inferno claim what it hadn't yet licked away with its fiery tongue. I staggered forward, barely healed enough to move. I kicked a burning booth out of my way, trying to find the door, just as a screaming corpse ravaged with fire crossed my path. I half-fell over myself until someone or something grabbed my ankle. I looked down to find the blackened and bloodied face of Flamer Fang, lead singer of DREADN. He tried to speak to me, but his torso was unhinged from his lower half.

"Flamer, hold on, I'll get you out," I said.

His hand fell with a thud, and all awareness slipped from his barren eyes. My mind raced to what was important. Flint, Jinx, and Draven.

Please let them be okay.

What should I do? I couldn't focus. The smoke was starting to burn my lungs faster than they could heal, and the searing heat was horribly uncomfortable. I tried to decide whether I should make like Elvis and leave the building or attempt a quick search for them. Maybe they were outside already?

Suddenly I was grabbed from behind, dragged across the floor and pushed through the doors. A stampede of survivors surged onto the streets of Sheol.

The hands keeping my sweater pulled against my stomach and gripping my neck quickly released. I fell against the pavement of the parking lot, my lungs singed and aching because they were soiled with soot. I tried to move away but couldn't. My body felt paralyzed. I looked up, coughing painfully as the smoke from inside the Rave rolled outward and clouded the area. Through bleary eyes, I saw the silhouette of a very furry Flint who snatched me up and moved me farther out of the way. He must have been the one who dragged me out of the fire.

"Come on, Babes. Can't have you lying around all night unless you're naked and in bed with me."

I could hear the furious wolf gurgling underneath his breath even though he tried to be funny for my sake. While I rubbed my burning eyes, he laid me against the soft, cool grass at the edge of the parking lot. Through the smoke from the smoldering ruins, I watched him storm feverishly toward his Harley and lose his shift underneath the twilight of stars, shaking away the beast the way wolves rid their coats of water. He threw open a worn side-satchel and grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a bottle of water. If I wasn't gagging, I might have gone all lustful-eyed, because believe me, he was something to admire when sporting about in the buff. In fact, because of him, I hardly noticed the other Weres spilling from the asphyxiating atmosphere, running to their bikes to do the same.

Unfortunately, Flint reminded me what my wounds were screaming for and needed in order to heal more efficiently. I was hungry now, which made the Aussie accented Furry a supersized happy-meal.

No.

I shook my head, deliberately burrowing in my mind around the pain, so I could get a handle on things. I couldn't allow my starvation to make my choices for me. That's how I ended up in Draven's bed and worst of all, with Ziax. Corpses who haunted Sheol were different from what I was used to.

Just hold it together. Wait and see if you heal on your own . . . I told myself.

Jinx bounced off the fence behind me, breaking my sudden urges in half. His scratchy throat coughed and heaved wildly. His baggy t-shirt was ripped to shreds, and his arms were covered with the same smut and charred muck as stained mine. His skin had shrunk to his bones, and a rabid, dangerous look penetrated his coal-saturated eyes. He dropped his backpack near my hip. I grabbed it and began searching until I found something in a zip-lock bag.

"Here, eat!" I possibly tossed sautéed eyeballs or pickled liver. With him, who knew?

He wasted no time wolfing the stuff down, causing his fleshy color to return along with the rest of his regular appearance. He had burned up his metabolism during the fight, which is how Zombies become creatures of the out-of-control-and-mind variety.

"This sucks." Bits of food fell from his lips upon his panting chest as he spoke. He kept munching.

"Well, you did tell us you were in the mood for BBQ," I said.

"Not if I'm the damn BBQ." He spat and hacked, having eaten too fast. Regaining control, he looked up at me. "What the fuck happened?"

"Not sure." I watched Flint finish with jerking up his fresh pair of jeans. He didn't bother doing up the button but rushed back over to me and squatted down, exposing his massive, toned thighs. He handed me the water. I was thirsty but not for water.

Flint carefully took my arm and pulled me up. "Who went fire-child on us?" he said, cradling the bottle, helping me to drink.

I lowered the water and wiped away what drizzled down my chin. I could still hear the wolf in his throat . . . rough, unhinged, untamed.

I was wondering the same but I wasn't ready to say so yet. I popped the top on the water bottle again and drank slowly, feeling the cool fluid blanket the burning in my throat. I looked around at the other survivors as Flint started to brush the smut away from my tummy and clothes. I tightened the lid and tossed the bottle to Jinx, who dumped the whole thing over his head.

Zombies don't fare well in high temperatures. He once told me too much heat felt like his skin was sizzling off the bone. Sweat rolled off him, flashing proof enough he felt miserable.

"You remember anything?" Flint asked me.

"I didn't see what happened." But who would have that kind of power?

Breeds spilled onto the pavement, showing the same wretchedness as the three of us. I didn't see or sense anyone who had that kind of power, and I knew damn well it wasn't Witcherella. She had smelt of Wiccan to me, which probably meant she believed in the harm-no-one crap, even if she was under the claw of her enemy. Not to mention that bucky in-your-face-spunk that would eventually get her strung up by her own garters.

Was she a Wicker (slang for Wiccan)? I mean, she felt strange, different. Hard to explain, especially now, with so much going on. I needed another whiff. I needed to sink into her energy a little. I needed . . . .

Hey, thinking of which, where was Witcherella? Where were the Daevas? Surely, they didn't go up in flames. Out of all the bodies being rescued or lying destroyed, Spar's sisters weren't among them, and neither was the little Witch they were chasing.

"Draven," Starla Jones screamed. She stood over a few bodies whose flesh flaked from their bones. Her starlet gown of silk was ruined. Normally, if she came face to face with a really serious situation like what happened at the Rave, she'd be on the verge of a breakdown by now, but she seemed to be holding up well. Shocking.

"Draven," she cried out again. "You must call a Healer." (Healer is our word for Supernatural Doctor).

My Crypt Master jogged out of the smoke. Like everyone else, he mirrored something normal again, his demonic-don't-screw-with-me shift gone. "Already done, love." He helped her stand; hardly anything was left of his clothes. "I've called the Healers and the Resurrecters."

If he was calling the Resurrecters, then Corpses had died or some were about to. Yes, the dead can die but not permanently if death is caught in time. The body has a few hours to be revived, if not, they will return to the World of the Living and well, to me, that would just plain suck.

We watched in silence as the smoke cleared and the blazing fire was smothered away by those with the skill. I could feel them extending their elemental gift, cottony clouds rolling forth, bringing with them the mist while the stormy weather turned into a waterfall of rain. A damp coolness descended, and I knew Jinx had to be somewhat relieved by now.

"Since when do Daevas have fire power?" My Zombie focused on the question my thoughts were still trying to figure out.

"They didn't." Flint sniffed the air once the last of the flames died and the water was sucked upward in a vacuum effect into the nothingness that had brought it. "They have no magic."

I sat on the pavement, feeling the burden of my exhaustion and ascending hunger. I had exerted too much of my own energy and needed to find a way to replenish. Flint and Jinx joined me while more bodies were carried out or tended to. I wasn't so far gone that I might begin unconsciously absorbing what little essence they had, so safely, I took a deep breath and rested my head on Flint's shoulder.

"Should we leave?" Flint's voice was almost a hush, rocking my attention away from the chaos.

I knew immediately why he was suggesting we leave. Had the fire been big enough to snare the G-creeps attention? Would they come swooping in on us?

"I . . . ." I saw Draven and Ziax coming our way. Making our exit was definitely a good idea, more so now than ever.

"They took Echo," Ziax blurted out before I could say a word. "She isn't here, and she isn't inside."

"Maybe little Witcherella clicked her heels three times and flew home." No, I'm not nice. Why should I be? If the tables were turned, and Jinx, and or Flint were missing, Ziax wouldn't give me the time of night.

"I'm being serious, Wyntress."

"Are you serious?" I looked from him and then to Flint. "Is he serious?" One hundred percent sarcasm all the way.

"Can you stop being a bitch for five seconds?" he snapped at me. "You know, you never change. To hell with everyone else, isn't that right?"

"Back off, Dracula, before I tear you a new jugular." Flint wasn't in any mood to play around, and his threat proved it. "Why should any of us take you seriously? Just like the rest of you bloodsuckers, you are always flipping out over the littlest things."

"Even if she was abducted, what the hell does it have to do with us? We should be jumping down your throat for bringing all this down on us tonight." Jinx was grouchy, a rare thing. His little bag of treats had been no more than an appetizer. I needed to find him more of a meal. Maybe roasted Fanger? Perhaps the one standing in front of me? Does that make me more or less of a bitch?

"Maybe you should explain things to her." Starla's tone sang a neutral and soft note—a huge shock. I mean, Sybil's moods changed with the passing of minutes and were never something nice and sickly sweet. Someone check my back for a dagger with Starla's prints. No? Well, give her a minute, I feel one coming.

"Explain. She has a woman's heart and will understand," Starla said.

"Okay, someone tell me why the hell Syb-zilla has her nose all up into this?" Jinx asked. "Just what are you and your multiple-schizo-personalities up to anyway?" His brow shot an arch over his right eye, invoking some seedy intention of interrogation.

"Why . . . nothing . . . ." She played the innocent card. "Ziax, tell her."

"How about we skip the lame explanations, and you just go away before I bang your fangs into your skull." Flint growled at the Vampire and stood in front of me. "Unless you'd rather explain who just tried to blow us into oblivion and why. You want to answer that one, Dracula?"

Suspicion danced a jig across our faces.

"Don't start with me, Flint." The Fanger hissed and narrowed his attention back onto me. "Aren't you going to say anything," he demanded. "Or will you stand there being the typical you, not giving a damn or caring about anyone other than yourself."

"Hmm, yeah, I'm gonna be typical . . . . Later." Far be it for me to break habit now, especially when he seemed so convinced.

I walked toward Flint's Harley, too hungry to play these games. Unlike this fool of a Fanger, curing my starvation wasn't going to come easy.

"We playing strip poker tonight or what?" I yelled to my two fiendish friends, hoping to get out of there.

"Hell, yeah." Flint left what was annoying him behind with my Zombie following his example.

"Wyntress!" Draven shouted.

Since he is a High Satan Demon Crypt Master, I had no choice but to turn around.

"What?!" I didn't have to be nice about it.

"Hear him out."

Okay, obviously he didn't need to be nice either.

"Why are you so suddenly concerned with my ex and his portable blood supply?"

"Simply hear him out, love." His tone softened.

Was I missing something here? Yeah, I probably was, given the crazy sympathetic looks Spar had tried hooking me with.

With a huge and very intense suspiration, I allowed Ziax to take me by the arm and lead me away from my best Corpses. I really didn't like the sappy puppy-dog look in his gilded, glowing eyes, but since he had Draven and the Prozac poster wench on his side, I was forced to suffer.

"Wyntress . . . this is hard for me to admit, but I need your help. When you left me, I could have sired you by force in order to keep us together, but I didn't."

Yeah, he could have tried, but a big stake in the chest later would have made him regret it. Anyway, what did his blubbering have to do with the rise of sin in Hell?

"I really didn't want to be without you, and I know you said I was so obsessed because of what you are, the power that has over those you choose to be your lover . . . ."

"Oh, you mean you're no longer blaming Viper or anyone else you can name?" If he was going to dredge up the past, then so could I. "And obsessed is putting things mildly, don't you think? I mean, you were dreaming up a way to kill my Zombie for bloody sakes, because he took too much of my time away from poor, little, ole you."

"Please, let's not dredge up my shame." He quickly squinted behind us; possibly making sure no one else could hear me. "And I know you're not pining away for Viper, and I know the way you felt had nothing to do with anyone or anything other than how I treated you. I'm sorry I tormented you. I admit I played a fool. I couldn't handle what you were and the effect it had on me. I'm sorry for everything I did, okay?"

"Get to the point." Yeah, I suppose I should have been more sympathetic, but if he was attempting to force a crypt load of guilt down my throat, no way was I going to swallow or gargle willingly.

"My point is . . . ." He nearly lost his temper again. "I was a mess until I met Echo. I really love her, Wyntress, and I want to spend eternity with her. I tried being with other women after you left, but none of them held a candle to the power you had over me, until her. I barely survived losing you. I won't survive losing her."

No, his words didn't bother me even though they would have catapulted most into a jealous frenzy. What bothered me was the guilt that I had been avoiding all this time slammed me face-first into the muck of his heartache. I just wanted to be away from him, and now all I could do was feel responsible . . . the same kind of thing that kept me watching over Viper for all these centuries. Oh, my Goth, please don't let this be as fatal as that.

"What do you want from me?" I solemnly asked.

Draven must have been listening because before Ziax could answer, he and Starla were right on our heels, butting in. "Get her back for him." He placed his hands behind his back and tapped a foot on the pavement.

"And how am I supposed to do that? Who's to say she's even missing?"

"You know if she isn't here then Spar took her to Pandemonia, so go get her."

For my Crypt Master to aide my ex in a personal matter floored me. After all, Draven is something like my Warden, and Wardens don't help the prisoners flee the slammer, do they? And he disliked the Gods, especially Ziax, as much as every other Corpse did.

"Um, why would she be in Pandemonia? If she took her, Spar would drag the Witch back to her own Dominion, Zathra. And don't start with the Viper crap again."

"The Daeva has been exiled from Zathra," Draven explained. "She was supposed to be contained," (locked up, he meant), "but she fled."

"Why? What did Spar do?"

"The situation is being investigated, but the Satan and serving Demons of Zathra believe she killed her father."

Yep, insert major eye-roll here . . . tidal wave of stupidity wiping out all of Hell. "What the hell would she kill big Daddy for?" Spar practically worshipped him. Oh, and her sperm donor was High Demon which means he was as bad a boy as Draven, and keeper of Magicka. Satan is also a title by the way, not an actual person with red horns seeking to steal our soul. All that crazy hype is just superstitious myth to us—rumors.

Also, there are Demons, and then there is the Satan of all Demons. He or she, since we try not to discriminate, is the adversary and top bad-ass, enforcing the rules of their Dominion, making sure those living there stay in line according to the laws—what little we have—of the given area. So Demons govern a Dominion they have no connection to, by race, breed or otherwise. They need to remain unattached and objective. Compare them to your police commissioners who are supposed to keep the order over their department.

"Draven, Spar would not kill her father. She has no motive. You have crossed paths with her. You're no new Satan on the block."

"It's being investigated, love," he repeated. "Until her name is cleared, we need the Witch back. We don't want her digging her grave any deeper now, do we?"

"Well, despite what either of you think, she did kill him," Ziax argued.

"Doesn't sound right." I was going to play this one stubborn. "None of this makes sense."

"Take the blinders off." Ziax was out to convince me, but like his accusations against Viper earlier, something didn't fly. "She killed her father and now she'll kill Echo."

"Wyntress . . . I just received word from a Grigori," Draven said. "The Witch is the only witness to Spar's crime. There's the motive; the Daeva wants her dead. Without Echo, the Grigori cannot prove Spar's guilt."

That damn G-word again. My skin ran cold, and I looked up as if worried that by saying the cursed thing over and over, one would come swooping in on me.

"Like I hold much stock in what they say. Look . . . ."

"Help me, Wyntress, please." Ziax pouted, and his eyes swelled with pathetic emotion.

Okay, this was insane. My ex and his supporters wanted me to break parole and go into Pandemonia to rescue my ex's true love? What romantic crack had they been smoking? Knowing Starla and the stash she carried, it was some killer shit.

"Wyntress, she has taken my blood twice. You know I cannot walk away from her now." The Vampire had left his best argument for the end, the last shovel of dirt over the coffin. Yeah, it meant they were serious, and she was under his skin like no other. It also meant whatever Echo suffered while trapped under the wrath of Spar, Ziax would also endure, because they were sickened by a blood bond, their fates tied to each other.

I kept still and silent. I could have barked out a million smart-ass replies, but I stood there, letting them finish first.

"Help me out, and it'll make up for all the hurt you claim you didn't mean to cause me." Ziax was driving the cleaver of my transgressions against me. Damn him.

"Wyntress, help him." Starla added salt to my wounds.

"Hold on." I threw my hand up, trying not to drown in their puddle of despair. "And stop trying to guilt me; damn every one of you." After achieving silence for half a second, I collected my wits. "Why not send the Demons after her? Why not sniff Echo out yourself since she has had your blood?"

"By the time the Demons find her, she could be dead without hope of resurrection. Spar will sense them coming since she has her father's blood." (Yeah, Ziax, thanks for reminding me. *Snickers*) "Besides, no one knows Pandemonia like you, and as far as my senses—you know I can't use them there."

"So send a Gr . . . " Damn, I almost said the word. "Send a you-know-who to fetch her out." I looked at Draven. "Why aren't they flying off to handle this?" Surely, the Witch is innocent enough to snag a rescue by one of them. To me, she reeked of it.

"You know the Grigori do not hunt for anyone," the Fanger cut in. "That's what their Demons are for, but since Spar can sense Demons, they have asked the Gods. They are more interested in whether or not Spar murdered her father and care nothing for a nameless Witch. It's up to me to save my woman, and I can't without your help. I can't even find Spar to bring her before the Grigori without your help."

Could they all stop saying their name, for bloody sakes? "Sorry, but I still don't think Spar killed her father."

"You are blind then." He was insulting me. As usual, he could only hide his true face for so long, and then the typical, brooding Vamp appeared, always lashing out when he wasn't getting his way.

Draven quickly pulled him to the side. Whatever he said caused Ziax to hold his tongue again. Ziax left us but didn’t go far, and I was slapped by the sounds of my Crypt Master's once fancy and well-polished shoes clicking against the pavement as he walked back to me. "Wyntress, this might score points for you if you can bring her back safely."

Now he was speaking my lingo. "What do I get?"

"So fucking typical!" Ziax hissed, but Starla grabbed his arm. She brought a finger to his lips, silently hushing him. Too late though. "Even now she is trying to trade . . . trying to get something in return for fetching something else. I hope the Grigori are watching and see how she hasn't changed."

"Dream on, fang boy, dream the hell on." I bit the dust and spat its ruthless truth in his face.

"No, she is right," Draven said. See, he gets me, and the way things work in Hell. "She should have something; after all, she may suffer a lot worse than your broken heart if the Grigoris catch her out of Sheol."

Why do they have to keep saying the G-word? Anyway, despite my horror of the word he was right.

"You know, Wyntress, if we want your help, we can't tell them you left until you have brought her back safely and captured Spar." Draven turned to Ziax. "Besides, they put the Gods in charge of this for a reward and would frown on you if you requested the help of someone whom they sentenced to Sheol as a punishment. I am even breaking oath by aiding such a plot, so we all have something to lose."

"Hold the death; I'm not going after Spar." I announced, tilting my chin upward, standing my ground. "I'll get the Witch, if there's something in it for me, but no more."

"Nor should you," Draven said.

"So, lay it on the coffin." I told him the same thing I told Spar. "What are you offering?"

"How about your very own crypt, and maybe I can manage a free pass through the other Gates, limited of course as to which Dominions."

He meant I wouldn't gain walking papers to any place of chaos like Pandemonia. Lucky for him I wasn't fussy.

"You can do this?" Not meaning to sound stupid, but hell, I'd slept with Draven without so much as a whisper of an offer that good, but now with Ziax's heart hanging by a thread, he was giving me something to chew on? Throw a bitch a bone already. Oh wait, he just did.

"For a crypt and a pass." I pretended to mull things over, but I had already decided.

"Yes . . . you have my word."

"Done.," I agreed to Draven's offer. "But I'm not hanging Spar up to dry. I'll get the Witch, but if Ziax can chain the Daeva, that's up to him. Oh, and I'm not going in alone. I'm taking Flint for muscle and Jinx because he's my own personal kleptomaniac. I might need help with stealing back Witcherella, ya know?"

"No." Ziax almost screamed, holding his breath and biting his lip. After a moment's pause, he continued. "Only you and I, not even my brothers, the Gods, will be joining us."

Now if the G-pricks put his entire group in charge, then why wasn't his entire group going? Something for me to ponder later, I decided. For now . . . . Draven, Starla, and I looked at him oddly, like he was a three-headed monkey, whacking off in the middle of the parking lot. Scratch the image else I'll be looking all damn night.

"What you and the Gods do is up to you. But if she goes, she takes whoever she wants." Draven didn't exactly make Ziax's night. "You are doing a selfless act, Wyntress; I'm very pleased with you."

"Selfless? You had to offer her a crypt," Ziax snapped.

"I've given her no less than what you've been offered by the Demons to catch Spar. And she's going, isn't she?" Draven's deep tone put him in his place, giving me time to wonder what Ziax's end was getting out of this.

"I think the situation is beautiful." Starla swooned, and I suddenly realized why she was being nice to me and why she was knee-deep in this quest. "It reminds me of a film I once did." Her eyes went starry. "One lover lost while another seeks to find her. Oh," she sighed, "takes me back to the most wonderful days."

"Okay, whatever." Could I hurl now? Back to business. "Jinx and Flint go, or I won't. Do you want your broom-straddler back? Then you shouldn't give a damn how I do it."

"Just keep them off my back." The Vamp flashed fangs.

"Oh, I'm sorry; did you think you had a choice? I thought I was doing you the favor here, not the other way around. And as far as keeping them off your back, you're on your own Fang Boy. You started that mess with them, not me."

"I did not . . . ."

"Leave things alone." Draven's abrupt interjection warned him.

The Resurrecters and Healers began to appear behind us, bringing this uncomfortable conversation finally to an end.

"Wyntress, meet Ziax at the Gate to Pandemonia come dusk tomorrow, or should you leave now?" Draven checked his watch, leaving it up to me.

"No, tomorrow is better. Spar will be searching for places to hide tonight since Pandemonia is not her home-sweet-Dominion. There'll be no finding her until she makes a nest," I said.

"Now, Ziax, since I helped you negotiate a deal with her, you and your gang can help me sort through the mess caused by your drama," Draven said.

Private portals closed and opened, releasing sharp wisps of wind and allowing smoke to gush out of the atmosphere simultaneously with explosions of bright light. White-hooded Resurrecters and Healers drifted toward the bodies lying on the charred pavement. Soft Gregorian chants began to rise and stir up psychic vibrations. Draven turned to leave with Ziax and Starla.

"Wait." He returned to me, voice low, almost a soundless whisper. "I want you to be careful, Wyntress Nyght. Do not let yourself get caught."

"By what?" I acted clueless, but I knew what he meant.

"One never knows." He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I felt a small static spark of passion burning from the heat of his lips, feeding me, filling me up and causing the agony of what happened earlier to dissipate from my body in soft bolts of electrical current. I smiled, thankful, as he knew I would be. I might still be hungry, but at least now I wouldn't be blinded into making bad choices.

"I have a feeling the next time we see each other, you shall be different." His words confused me, so I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he gave me no chance.

"Good-night, Wyntress Nyght."

Standing alone, I could only wonder how desperate I must have been to agree to this mess. Hey, my corpse was pretty damn desperate to be able to leave Sheol once in a while or score my own crypt; otherwise, Witcherella could be Spar's cinder-bitch for all I cared.