I felt myself withering, becoming small. Yet the anguish only grew, as if molten lava laced with sulfuric acid seared through me. My mind untethered in the swell of pain, and still the agony expanded. I wished for death, beyond comprehending that I was already dead.
The grip on my arm disappeared, and the shrieking agony abruptly ended, though not the sense of being shriveled to nothing. I found myself floating slightly above the grayed boards of the floor, inches from the Judge, who looked more solid and real than ever. He’d released me, leaving me drained and helpless. A wraith, or at least well on my way to being one.
His rolling voice sounded like thunder. “The slut’s screams are an irritant. Silence her.”
Erica muttered over the card table, sketching smoky wards in the air with a taper. She huffed and looked at the Judge with exasperation. “Do you want Tristan Keith’s resting place or are you going to keep interrupting me?”
I sobbed weakly as he roared at her. “Silence her, witch!”
She snarled, but she put the taper in a brass candlestick and turned towards me. “Fine, fine, but I’d better get paid tonight as soon as you rise.” The witch mumbled incomprehensible words, and my throat went numb. “There, you undead energy addict. Glut yourself silly on her.”
I’d floated even higher, but still not out of the Judge’s reach. He grabbed me by the elbow, and the insane torture resumed.
It went on for a hellish eternity. I couldn’t even voice my pain now, which somehow made it worse. I lost all sense of self, of Brandilynn Payson. I was anguish incarnate. I would have welcomed oblivion, but it never came.
A harpy’s shriek joined in the nightmarish cacophony of misery. “I found it!”
The pain ended. I elevated with a rush and bounced off the ceiling, joining the moaning chorus gathered there. The hurting had stopped, but the memory of it persisted, joining the sensation of being consumed until I was only tatters of the ghost I’d been. I was shredded, an utter ruin.
Having discarded me like used tissue, the Judge’s attention focused on the beaming Erica. “Where is he?”
“Home sweet home. He and his sister are buried on the grounds of Sanderson Cottage among the natives’ oyster shells.”
The Judge’s ghost grin didn’t possess vampire fangs, but it still resembled the Gates of Hell. “The Indian Mound. Brilliant hiding place. No one would dare to dig it up as long as there are a few savages left to protest the desecration of their former lands.” The bloodsucker’s laugh set the other wraiths to wailing in fear. “It won’t save him tonight, will it?”
Erica’s cackle joined his. I had an inkling of how purgatory with its hordes of demons would sound. “His weres will all be gathered at the press conference, leaving your people to rip him to pieces when he rises. I got to hand it to you, you’re a pretty smooth operator.”
The Judge recoiled from her, his obvious hatred reasserting itself as victory’s moment faded. “I expect you to join us to destroy any wards protecting the site. You’ll be paid afterwards.”
“I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss this party for the world.”
Evil satisfaction slimed over his visage. “I must attend Tristan now. If a problem arises before the appointed time, I will be at the city council offices. He and his foul sister are spying on them today, hoping to block their plans for putting a new jail on the waterfront.”
Well, that answered the question of why Dan and I hadn’t found Tristan. The city and county commissions were always at odds with each other, and any edge one could gain over the other was considered essential.
Not that I really cared in my current state. I just wanted to disappear from existence before the Judge got his hands on me again.
Erica peered up at me. “I think the last problem is taken care of. Although if you ask me, your psychotic murder spree is more likely to be discovered when you replace Tristan as Fulton Falls’ lead vampire.”
The Judge sneered. “Humans are nothing but cattle, a lower link in the food chain. It’s high time the vampires claimed their rightful place as rulers.”
Erica shrugged, clearly not impressed. The witch blew out her candles, leaving only the lazily drifting sunlight and the dancing flame of the hurricane lamp to light the space. Without a backward glance, the Judge blinked out of the shack. I sagged with relief to see him leave.
I wanted to curl into myself and huddle with my hurts and fears. As the witch set about clearing the card table of her witchy accessories, I forced myself to look around the shack carefully, hoping to find some avenue of escape. One pointed board shard hung loosely from the ceiling like a stalactite, leaving a four-inch wide gap to the outside. I was wispy enough to fit through it, but when I drifted near, I found it blocked as if by a solid steel barrier. The wards defeated any hope of flight. However, as a weak sunbeam washed over me, I felt a trickle of energy. Solar power. Could I get myself back that way, I wondered?