Chapter Twenty-Nine

My head pounded, and the gag in my mouth tasted like it was made from someone’s shorts. The scratch on my back burned like I’d been branded. Every muscle in my body ached. Even my eyeballs hurt. I was naked. My numb hands were duct-taped behind my back, my ankles taped as well. I lay on the bathroom floor of what looked like a cheap hotel. Mold covered the grout at the base of the toilet in front of my face. It was cold. The room reeked of urine and despair.

Mike was dead. He’d tried to save me, and he was dead.

I could hear the crazy asshole in the other room. He chanted something in a low voice. I couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to let the long-faced, warty son-of-a-bitch get close enough to hit me with a stun gun or whatever it was that had zapped me. For that matter, I couldn’t believe the device functioned when it was close to me. Just my luck—of all the electronics that won’t work around me, a Taser is the one that does.

From what Craig had told me about the murders, I doubted if the guy would kill me here. He had staged elaborate, painful deaths for his victims. I had to get myself out.

I could make a way and roll through to the Outlands, but bound and naked was not a good condition to be in when rolling into the unknown. Most of the spells I could use needed my hands free. I at least needed to be in less pain, so I could focus better. I had to get my mind clear.

I couldn’t think about Mike. He’d tried to save me, and now, he was dead. I was still alive. I wasn’t going to let his sacrifice be for nothing. This crazy was going to find out I was no victim.

I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and cleared my mind, idea by idea. First, I put Mike aside. I would mourn him when I was safe. I ignored the sound of the creep chanting in the other room. I dispelled the pain in my hands and head. When I opened my eyes, what I focused on was a black towel draped across the mirror. Why the hell did he cover the mirror?

The mirror made me think of one spell I could do in my head. It was a simple camouflage spell. It took a bit of energy, and it had its limitations, but it was better than waiting for the murderer to come for me. Oh, Mike. My stomach churned as I thought of the blood spurting from his neck. If I threw up with the gag in my mouth, I would choke to death. I turned the fear to rage. Mike had not died for nothing.

I calmed my breathing again and tried to focus the turmoil in my head. No one was coming to the rescue. I had better get busy saving myself.

I managed to roll myself to my bound feet. I leaned against the sink and got my head under the towel covering the mirror. I heard the crazy guy moving in the other room. I focused as well as the pounding in my brain would let me. The mirror felt cool against my flushed face. I muttered mirror, mirror, mirror behind my gag, to drown out the pounding. It helped focus the spell. The silver of the mirror flowed over my body. It reflected what was behind me to the front of me, essentially making me transparent. As the silver flowed over me, I bunny-hopped behind the door between the sink and wall. I settled in place just as the crazy came through.

He was still chanting some incomprehensible jargon. When he didn’t see me, he screamed in rage. He looked in the tub, then right through me, where I was behind the door.

He slammed out of the bathroom, shouting, “Witch, the sigil is made. You must die, Witch. God’s wrath cannot be stopped.”

Freaking certifiable.

I heard the outer door slam. After a few minutes, I was sure he was gone. I let the mirror harden back to glass. It shattered off my body, tinkling to the floor in thin, almost transparent shards. Rubbing my face along the edge of the bathroom vanity, I was able to scrape off the tape and spit out the vile gag. The corner of the vanity did nothing to the heavy layers of duct tape on my wrists. The creep might come back at any minute. I was desperate.

My first instinct was to do the cheesy movie thing and start screaming until someone came to saved me. I took a breath to start, then let my lungs deflate without a sound. The nutcase would probably come back. Even if the police came, he might be able to convince them this was some sort of sex play. A couple of years ago, there was a news story about a serial killer who convinced the police a lover’s spat had driven a bleeding, naked young man into the street. The police gave the kid back to him. He promptly killed the boy and ate the tender portions. No screaming, Airy. Start thinking.

I couldn’t even dial a phone. Who could come quietly? A tiny pink fairy popped into my mind. “Andieriallas, Andieriallas, Andieriallas,” I called three times.

Less than a minute later, the little pixie appeared in the room. Her iridescent wings fluttered as she bobbed in the air in front of me. “Oh, Ariel.” She tilted her whole body as a larger being would have tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get away from a crazy person. Could you help me cut my hands free? I need to do it quickly,” I said.

She tilted the other direction, looking at me quizzically. I was ready to explain what I needed again, when she flew around behind me. “The bindings are fair strong,” she said.

I heard a tinkling sound by the floor. A shard of the fine glass and a bit of toilet paper made a perfect knife for her tiny hands. She was able to cut the duct tape while only slightly mutilating my wrists. I had my legs free seconds later.

“Thank you, Andi.”

“I am honored to be of service to the bird rider Ariel. Have you given me the name Andi for this world?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said absently.

A peek out the window showed only two cars at the far end of the parking lot. The exterior of the Motel was dirty tan with green trim. I went in search of my clothes. The main room smelled of mold and sex. A ‘No Tell Motel”. A four-foot cross was propped against the wall, and the same black cloth covered the pictures that covered the mirror in the bathroom. There was a thick hemp rope and a pile of cement blocks along one wall.

Andi followed me around the room. My clothes were nowhere to be found, so I grabbed the crazy’s shirt lying on the bed. Mike’s blood spattered it, but I put it on anyway. I pulled a black cloth from where it covered a picture and wrapped it around my waist as a skirt. The creep’s blood-spattered shoes were huge. They slopped on my feet, but they were better than nothing.

The picture my skirt cloth had covered was an innocuous, pastoral scene. Why would he cover it up? On the desk by the TV was parchment paper and a calligraphy pen. I don’t know why this struck me as strange. He was a serial killer after all. I’d taken deviant psychology in school. Nut cases all had their rituals.

What to do next? Now I was ready for him. The insane bastard was less of a danger to me, but I shouldn’t get cocky. “Andi, could you watch to see if the tall human, with a mole like a grape hanging from his nose, is coming back to this room?” I pointed to the place on my nose where the crazy had his mole. She nodded briefly and flitted off so quickly that she seemed to disappear.

A normal person would call the police, but I’m a Carney. We handle our own problems. Searching the room, I found pamphlets for a revival meeting with the Honorable Right Reverend Parris. Honorable, my fine behind! He killed Mike. The son-of-a-bitch wasn’t walking away. I grabbed the phone and dialed Mister D.