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still looms fresh in my mind.
He raises both hands. "I don't know what to tell you. Last night I didn't
feel anything like what we experienced a few minutes ago. In fact, I didn't
feel or see anything at all, even in human form. I thought they must have gone
out a back door. But then one of the men came back. Scared the shit out of me.
I barely had time to hide. A trapdoor opened in the floor and this guy climbed
out, went out to his car and drove away."
"Why do you think it has anything to do with the witch? These tunnels are
used by drug dealers."
Frey gives me an impatient frown. "I did a little exploring after he left.
Followed the tunnel until I reached the end. What I saw there had nothing to
do with drugs. The woman who arrived in the car was watching a dozen or so men
make something out of wood in a clearing not far from the end of the tunnel.
An altar, I think. Of course, I didn't know then what it was for. I told you I
thought it was a bunch of wannabes getting ready to dance their way into a
sexual frenzy in honor of Halloween. It happens all the time out here in the
desert."
He may still be right. I won't know for sure until I see if Belinda Burke is
here.
"If the witch is using these tunnels," I reply, "whatever drug cartel dug
them must be letting her maybe she's giving them something in return. But if
she is working with a cartel, why the glamour to keep people out? Why not just
have guards with guns?"
"Last night, it was guards with guns," he says.
And yet now, tonight when the ritual is to take place, there are no guards. A
primitive warning sounds in my brain. Does she know I'm here? Is it what she
wants?
Frey raises a hand to his lips, and points, a signal that we're nearing the
end of the tunnel. There's a staircase just ahead. He drops to one knee,
lowers his head, and with an exhalation of breath, transforms back into the
cat.
I've seen him make the change once before, but that time it was gradual. One
shape morphing into another. This time, it's accomplished in the blink of an
eye. A shudder racks his body, a cry becomes a growl, and the human Frey is
gone. It must be painful to make the change so fast. The panther trembles a
moment before gathering himself to make the ascent out of the tunnel.
I'm right behind him. It's a steep, slippery climb, on rough slabs of stone
set into the concrete. I have to go slowly, Frey bounds up like well, like a
cat. There are about twenty steps leading into a darkened passageway. No
lights here. We're guided by a strange sound, a litany sung in an unfamiliar
language. And the scent of incense and burning mesquite.
We tread softly. I have a hand on the scruff of Frey's neck. I'm afraid what
will happen if I'm plunged into another nightmare-scape. Frey seems to sense
it, because he presses closes to me as if for assurance. There's no doubt in
my mind now that we're in the right place. Before we reach the triangle of
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light that marks the doorway, I lean down and whisper in his ear.
"If something happens to me, stop the witch. Don't let her hurt Culebra."
He pushes his head against my chest and makes a guttural noise.
Then I straighten up and lead the way outside.
Chapter 31
What we see through the doorwayis a scene from a nightmare. This time,
though, it's not my own personal hell, but a tableau from an ancient book on
witchcraft. A huge fire crackles and dances, sending sparks and laps of flame
into the night. The reflection cast by the fire is the only light, making the
darkness beyond dense and impenetrable. In the flickering shadows, an altar
rises like a specter, and something that looks very much like a gallows. There
is a form suspended on the scaffold, not hanging from a noose, but
spread-eagle on a cross. It looks human. And it's very still.
Frey stops me from moving forward by taking my hand gently into his mouth.
I'm so intent on trying to make sense of the scene, I almost blunder into the
trap. A thin wire stretches ankle height across the door. We can't see what it
would trip, but it doesn't matter. I step over while Frey leaps it with feline
gracefulness.
The chanting comes from our right, out of sight behind an outcropping of
rock. It's a melodious, ancient sound that reminds me of the old Catholic high
mass. Latin, maybe, or Celtic. It's accompanied by an instrument with sweet,
clear tones. A recorder.
Frey and I scramble across a bare expanse of ground to take shelter behind a
rock. I don't know if we're inMexico or have crossed into theUnited States .
Most of these tunnels exit somewhere in the Otay Mesa area ofSan DiegoCounty ,
but I haven't a clue how far we traveled.
I peek up from the rock, keeping as still as I can to avoid attracting
attention. My breath catches in my throat when I recognize what is hanging
from that cross. There are two bodies, back to back, lashed together. One,
facing me, is a woman, her limp, naked body a pale, flickering silhouette in
the firelight. I can't make out the other. I can't even tell whether the two
are human, although I suspect they are.
Or if they are alive.
Where is Culebra?
The chanting becomes louder, more urgent. I glance at my watch it's ten
minutes before midnight. I'd lost track of time. We must have traveled much
farther than I imagined.
I shift my gaze in the direction of the sound. Dozens of people form a
hellish chorus, standing close together, dressed in long dark robes with the
cowls pulled over their heads. They sway and moan the words, caught up in some
demonic rapture.
A woman steps from the group, opens her robe, lets it fall to the ground. She
has dark hair that sweeps forward to cover her face. Her naked body glows in
the reflected light. When she turns toward the altar, I see it. On her right
shoulder is a tattoo. A crimson skull with a rose. Belinda Burke.
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At a signal from the witch, the others let their robes fall, too. Now, men
and women, all stand naked. They intertwine hands and follow as she makes her
way toward the altar. She alone climbs the steps. Still chanting, the others
form a circle around the fire and the altar.
Belinda Burke looks down on her congregation. She raises a staff and they
grow quiet.
"We have taken the first step," she says, her words infused with a dark
energy that makes a shiver touch my spine. "The gathering is complete. The
hour approaches. We will accomplish what no other coven has done before. We
will summon the demon, Aswah, and he will be our servant. He will cleanse the
earth of those who hide themselves among us, pretending to be human,
pretending to do us no harm."
She gestures to the cross behind her. "We will seal this pact with the
offerings. A human woman, to show Aswah what earthly pleasures await him. And
the demon, shapeshifter, to remind him of his mission."
My body tenses as her words stab at my heart.Culebra? Is it you?
There is no answer from the motionless figure. How could this have happened?
Culebra is powerful, possesses strong magic. How could he have let himself be
trapped by a witch?
Burke is still talking, but I no longer listen. I've got to stop this. I feel
Frey shift beside me, his eyes hold a question I can't yet answer.
Burke raises the staff again. The coven responds. The chanting is louder,
more compelling, filled with the zealousness of renewed purpose. Burke's voice
floats out over the others, intoning the summoning spell. The fire leaps
higher as if in response to her words. The ground begins to shake beneath our
feet.
It's two minutes to midnight. Think. What did Williams say? There is only an
instant when the summoning can be completed, when the worlds of the living and
dead overlap. We have to interrupt at that instant.
The fire parts, dividing itself to form a chasm in the pit. Burke's face is
wild with desire, her voice shakes with emotion. She is caught up in a frenzy
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