Beautiful Chaos(135)

The tortured spirit moved toward John, its expression frozen in a terrifying and silent scream. John opened his hands in front of him, the way Lena always did. “Back up, Ethan. I don’t know what this thing’s gonna do.”

I stumbled back as flames surged from John’s hands. He didn’t pack as much power as Lena or Sarafine did, but there was still plenty of fire. The flames hit the spirit, enveloping it. I could see the outline of its limbs and body in the center of the blaze, its face frozen in an eternal scream. Then the mist dissipated, and the form vanished. Within seconds, the dark mist was spiraling in front of the fire, until the spirit was hovering a few feet away.

“Guess that didn’t work.” John rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I haven’t—”

The Unclaimed flew at John, but it didn’t stop when it reached him. The dark mist flew inside him, almost disappearing completely when John ripped. The spirit was forced out violently, like it was being sucked backward into a vacuum.

John materialized a few feet away, shocked. He ran his hands over his body, like he was trying to see if anything was missing. The spirit was spiraling up through the mist, unfazed.

“What did that thing do to you?”

John was still trying to shake it off. “It was trying to get inside me. Dark spirits need a body to posses if they’re gonna do any real damage.”

I heard the sound of clinking glass again. The bokor was opening the bottles, and a shadowy mist rose slowly from each one. “Look. He’s got more of them.”

“We’re screwed,” John said.

“Amma, stop it!” I yelled. But it didn’t matter. Amma’s arms were crossed, and she looked more determined and crazy than I’d ever seen her. “You come on home with me, and he’ll fill those bottles back up faster than you can spill a glass a milk.” This time, Amma had gone so dark that I didn’t know how to find her—or bring her back.

I looked at John. “Can’t you make them disappear, or turn them into something?”

John shook his head. “I don’t have any powers that work on angry Unclaimed spirits.”

Circles of smoke floated into the air as someone stepped out from the shadows. “Fortunately, I happen to have a few.” Macon Ravenwood took a couple of puffs on the cigar he was holding. “Amarie, I am disappointed. This is not your finest hour.”

Amma pushed past the bokor, the bottles still tied to his belt rattling dangerously. She pointed a bony finger at Macon. “You would do the same thing for your niece, quicker than a sinner would steal money outta the collection plate, Melchizedek! Don’t you stand there with your high and mighty because I won’t let my boy be your sacrificial lamb!”

The bokor released another Unclaimed spirit behind Amma. Macon watched it rise into the air. “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to collect your belongings and be on your way. My friend was not thinking straight when she procured your services. Grief addles the brain, you know.”

The bokor laughed, pointing his staff at one of the spirits and guiding it in Macon’s direction. “I’m not a hired hand, Caster. The bargain she made with me can’t be undone.”

The spirit circled once and shot down toward Macon, its mouth torn and slack.

Macon closed his eyes and I shielded mine, anticipating the blinding green light that had almost destroyed Hunting. But there was no light. It was the opposite—a complete absence of light. Darkness.

A wide circle of absolute blackness formed in the sky above the Unclaimed spirit. It looked like one of those satellite pictures of a hurricane, except there were no churning winds. This was a real hole in the sky.

The Unclaimed turned as the black hole pulled it across the sky like a magnet. When the spirit hit the outer edge of the hole, it disappeared, little by little, as it was sucked inside. It reminded me of the way my hand disappeared into the grate outside the Lunae Libri, except this didn’t look like an illusion. When the spirit’s hazy fingers were finally swallowed by the void, the hole closed and vanished.

“Did you know he could do that?” John whispered.

“I don’t even know what he did.”

The bokor’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t deterred. He pointed his staff at the remaining spirits one by one, and their broken forms jerked toward Macon. Ink-black holes opened up behind each of them, dragging the Unclaimed inside. Then the holes disappeared like the pop of fireworks.

One of the empty bottles slipped out of the bokor’s hand and dropped to the ground. I heard it crack against the dry earth. Macon opened his eyes and met the bokor’s, calmly. “As I said before, your services are no longer required. I suggest you return to your hole in the ground before I create one for you.”

The bokor opened a crude pouch and scooped a handful of the chalky white powder he had sprinkled on the ground around him. Amma backed away, raising the bottom of her dress so it didn’t drag across the powder. The bokor lifted his hand and blew the particles at Macon.

They blew through the air like ash. But before they reached Macon, another black hole opened and sucked them in. Macon rolled his cigar between his fingers. “Sir, and I use the term loosely, unless you have something more, I suggest you take your walking stick home.”

“Or what, Caster?”

“Or the next one will be for you.”