Chapter 46

Chapter

Forty-Six

Small animals, all in various states of decay, burst from the ground, dropped from the branches, and lurched out of the bushes and trees, as if the forest itself had come alive to attack me.

But it wasn't the forest. And the animals didn't attack—they assembled silently and in an orderly way. Which, I decided almost immediately, was worse than a frenzied attack because it was so eerie.

Dozens of dogs, cats, rabbits, squirrels, mice, foxes, raccoons, possums, skunks, and deer, and a few bobcats and coyotes too, gathered en masse around Pierce's garden. All were extremely dead, some little more than bones and fur and some sinew. Many were eyeless, but they moved with purpose anyway. My skin crawled.

The odor of death and rot grew so strong that I came perilously close to losing my dinner of a hastily snarfed PB&J. I swallowed hard and focused on watching Pierce.

If there was a silver lining to the assembly of dead things, they helped hide my presence. And they paid no attention to me whatsoever, even brushing past me as if I were nothing more than a tree or branch. I worried about those snakes, though. They weren't dead, which meant their senses were perfectly acute. Hopefully they stayed in thrall to their master and didn't notice something alive lurking in the shadows in the midst of all the decay.

Pierce threw back the hood of his robe and smiled at the sight of all the dead things that had gathered around him, and probably all the deadly things in his garden too. He seemed to have the same level of joy in this moment as I felt in the midst of my pack or when I played with Baby Daisy.

Necromancers. I just…didn't get it.

My plan for how this would play out had not included an army of undead critters, much less venomous snakes.

I didn't know if Sean and the others could see this nightmare, but they had to be able to smell the stench of decay. I pushed love and trust through our nascent bond and felt warmth in response.

I'd fought hordes of monsters in the Underworld and the Broken World, and plenty of other terrible and creepy things over the course of my life. The dead animals around me didn't frighten me as much as their presence was just unnerving. Not as unnerving as the amount of pleasure Pierce apparently got from this nightmarish tableau, though.

And not nearly as unnerving as when Pierce suddenly looked straight at me…and all the snakes gathered around him turned and looked too, their tongues flicking out to taste the air in my direction.

I definitely did not almost wet my pants.

I did, however, step out from behind the bushes and give him a little wave. "Evening, Greg. Nice place you've got. Very homey."

"It is for me." His smile widened. "I'm flattered you went to so much trouble to find me and get past my wards unnoticed. Courtesy of your pretty witch friend, I see. All that dried blood must be uncomfortable. Would you like something to wipe your face? Though I do love a beautiful woman covered in blood and black magic. It's…alluring."

Well, ew. But if he found me alluring , I could work with that. I wasn't above using my feminine wiles, such as they were. Whatever got the job done.

"Blood never bothered me much," I said with a shrug. "But to be honest, I'm not a fan of snakes. Any chance you and I could talk without your slithery little friends?"

He tsk 'd. "My familiars? You'd ask me to dismiss my most cherished and devoted companions?"

"Call it a favor."

Now Pierce appeared thoughtful. "If I ask them to leave, will you allow me to give you a tour of my garden?"

"Why? Would that be a real treat for you?"

He laughed at my reference to how he'd described the prospect of getting me on the witness stand. "It would, actually. Maybe it would be a treat for you too. No other human has ever stepped foot on this ground. You're a blood mage. I know it calls to you."

It did call to me, because all blood gardens did. And to get close to him, I'd have to venture into that den of death and decay. I just needed to not seem too eager.

I put my hands on my hips. "Lose the snakes and I'll think about it."

He made a series of odd sounds like a cross between whisper and whistle. One by one, the snakes turned and slipped away in different directions, disappearing into the darkness.

"You know, that's less reassuring than I thought it would be," I said dryly. "I guess at least in the light I knew where they were."

"They'll stay clear. I wouldn't waste your beauty or power on a snakebite." He gestured grandly and even bowed. "Welcome to my paradise, Alice."

He was laying it on thick with the compliments tonight, as if I was susceptible to flattery with this level of danger close by. But I gave him a smile as if I liked his attention.

Once I ventured inside the garden, I'd be out of sight of my backup. Sean and the others would have to wait for my signal to know when to act. That, or for disaster to strike. One of the two .

I stepped over and around the dead critters and eyed the garden's deadly vine-covered doorway. "You wouldn't waste my beauty and power on thorns or poisonous mushrooms either, would you?"

Pierce laughed. "Hardly."

He'd kill me any way he could if I gave him a reason, but I pretended to take his assurance at face value.

It took every ounce of willpower and courage I had to step through the garden's doorway and past those dripping thorns.

Inside, Pierce's garden smelled of decay, leafy growing things, rich dark earth, and black magic. And blood—so much blood. Somehow both its smell and appearance were less unpleasant than I'd expected. The thing I liked least were all the little dark openings and shadows where I suspected his damn snakes had taken refuge.

His altar was simple: a massive stone base with a pillar, another flat stone like a tabletop inlaid with glyphs that glowed red, and a cauldron. Around the cauldron he'd placed red and black candles that had black flames and a variety of bones, including a few skulls. One skull and several of the bones were human and very discolored with age. The rest of the human bones looked recently added.

"Have you seen this kind of altar before?" Pierce asked. He sounded genuinely curious. "You don't seem surprised by what's on it."

I shrugged. "I've been around a lot of occult and black magic practitioners. Dealt with a sorcerer fairly recently even." Two, actually, counting Vlad, but he'd never believe me if I said more than one. And besides, Vlad's existence and final death were still in the category of top secret.

"You survived a sorcerer." His eyebrows shot up. "I take it the sorcerer is dead?"

"Super dead," I confirmed. "Made a big boom when he went. Very satisfying."

I hadn't said it to impress him—well, not entirely to impress him—but the news certainly appeared to elevate his assessment of me. Mission accomplished there, since I wanted him to think I was here to talk about an alliance.

Since he didn't seem to object, I took a peek in the cauldron. Skull, femur, and humerus, all old, bubbling in a foul liquid with oils and herbs floating on top.

I pinched my nose, mostly for show. "You know that's gross, right?"

That elicited an indulgent chuckle. "It's all in the eye of the beholder. That's beautiful to me. A lifetime of learning and discipline in what looks to you like bones in a pot. All magic is beautiful to some and ugly and terrifying to others. All types of ritual practice, including yours, require ingredients and tools. These are mine."

It took serious mental gymnastics to equate human bones with the implements I kept in my workshop, but I didn't argue.

He led me to his beds of mushrooms, the source of most of the rotten smell that pervaded the garden. Some of the mushrooms were pretty, some were strange, and some were downright scary in appearance, like the ones we stood in front of first. They had gray corpse-like flesh, black edges, and long black fringes that reminded me of icicles.

" Coprinopsis atramentaria ," he said, caressing their tops. "Commonly known as the inky cap. Perfectly safe to eat unless you drink alcohol before or after consuming them. One of my favorites because of their colors and how they love to grow from rotting wood. The smell is divine."

He clearly had a much different definition of divine than me. "All the mushrooms in these garden beds are deadly?"

"All of them," he confirmed. "But they vary widely in their manners of death. Some show you the mysteries of the universe before you die. Others introduce you to levels of agony virtually unknown to humanity. A few offer death in an almost painless way, guiding you through the veil in your sleep. Side by side, they're like a symphony of death."

The variety next to the inky caps was wholly unremarkable: white tops and stems, some with pink or yellow in the center of their tops. Unlike most of the other mushrooms in this garden, I wouldn't have paid them any attention, but Pierce stopped to admire them. " Amanita bisporigera , or destroying angel. Such a beautiful name for such an unremarkable killer. One of the deadliest mushrooms in existence and yet easy to miss on first glance. Foragers frequently mistake them for safe, edible varieties. Looks can be deceiving, can't they?"

Even I could recognize that metaphor. Pierce probably thought of himself as perfectly safe in appearance but incredibly deadly in reality.

We moved to a more colorful bed. Unlike the deathly gray of the inky caps or the plain white of the destroying angels, the tops of these mushrooms were a deep red, the color of arterial blood. On closer inspection, their white spots were not just bumps, but bore a resemblance to screaming faces. I recoiled.

Pierce's body language changed, becoming almost reverent. "My treasures," he murmured, almost lovingly, his fingertips hovering over the surface of the mushroom. " Amanita demonica . They only grow from the body of a slain demon. The souls that demon claimed remain trapped in the flesh of the fungus, pushing to the surface but unable to escape. While its brothers and sisters in the Amanita family will merely kill you, this beautiful fungus will pull your soul out of your body. Would you like to touch one, Alice?"

His smile was almost tender or sensual, as if we were on a second date discussing after-dinner plans over wine instead of talking demons and death over Hell's own mushrooms. Then again, maybe for necromancers this sort of thing counted as flirting.

"Tempting," I said. "But I think I'll pass."

As he watched, I took my time wandering around the rest of the garden, surveying the plants and flowers that filled it. Most were dark green or black, making this by far the most gothic garden I'd ever stepped foot in. The only pops of color were mushrooms and the fire on the torches.

Here and there I spotted bones protruding from the soil. Most appeared human, but some clearly belonged to the kinds of small animals who'd gathered outside, silent and watchful.

"Your garden is beautiful," I said when Pierce moved so he could see my face in the torchlight. "Surprisingly so. Not what's on the altar or the snakes, of course, but the rest is lovely in its own way."

"You don't find death evil? Or ugly?"

"Death isn't evil or ugly in itself," I said. "But the way you deal it out, and use it for power and fear, and try to control it, is ." He stood close enough to me that I had to look up to see his face, but I wasn't going to step back. "You realize with your ability and dedication to your practice, you could be powerful without dealing in death, right?"

"What use is power if it doesn't make people fear you?" He seemed puzzled by the concept.

"What use is power if all it does is make people fear you?" I countered. Hadn't I just had this conversation with Moses the other day? "What if your power and how you use it made people respect and follow you instead? If it's power you want, there are other ways to get it and keep it. Ways that let you keep your soul and not end up in places like Tartarus. I've been there. It's not nice."

"Death is not nice." He touched my cheek, his fingertips tracing a streak of dried blood. He smelled like smoke and rot. "Death comes for us all. It's an unbeatable foe for anyone who refuses to make it an ally."

Fear of death and the instinct for survival were the most powerful and fundamental forces I knew. And for people like Pierce, they overrode nearly everything else, making them willing to do anything to hold death at bay.

His hand trailed down my arm and raised my hand so he could inspect my inner wrist. "I noticed this scar earlier in the park. You've met one of my kind before."

"Yes." I took my hand back. "A long time ago. I barely remember."

He smiled like he knew that was a lie, but he let it go .

"I hate to break it to you, Greg," I said, to redirect the conversation back to where we'd left off. "But death comes for those who think they're its ally too. I see it happen all the time. Didn't we just talk about that sorcerer I killed? You can't defeat it—all you can do is put it off. And then when it catches up to you, in whatever form it chooses, you go all the way down to Hell's subbasement. Don't you fear that? Because I gotta be honest—if I were in your shoes, I would."

He smiled. "Are you trying to save my soul, Alice Worth?"

Was I? Since I'd arrived, I'd pretended, played along, almost flirted, waiting for a chance to spring a trap. But this last bit of conversation hadn't been fake. I'd come here wanting to send Pierce to Tartarus, only to find myself sincerely making an argument against black magic and necromancy to a serial-killing psychopath with buckets of innocent blood on his well-manicured hands.

"I could have been you," I said, which startled us both. "If I'd taken a different path and given in to the temptation to make the fantasies in my head reality. But as much as I've strayed over that line, and as many times as I've wanted to embrace the kind of power you love to have, something always held me back from the abyss."

"Fear of eternal damnation?"

"No, not really. My conscience, I suppose. And I saw the people around me, who were powerful but evil and hated and enjoyed making others suffer, and I knew I didn't want to be that kind of person. Maybe that's what makes you and I different: conscience and a difference of opinion on what power is for."

He tilted his head. "You don't think I have a conscience?"

No sense lying to him. "No, I don't."

"And yet I haven't killed you," he mused. "I wonder why."

"Because you think I might be useful." As I talked, I walked around Pierce and then in a circle, looking over the garden again. "I don't have value to you except for what I might be able to do for you. Those who are useful get to live. Everyone else, you don't care if they live or die. You can go through the motions as the D.A. and fake caring because you know you have to act like you have normal emotions, but people's suffering doesn't really reach you, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." Pierce frowned. "But somehow I do care whether you live or die, and not just because I think we would make a formidable team. I think it's because you seem to understand me better than anyone."

I've been around a lot of psychopaths , I wanted to say, but didn't. Carly's counseling sessions had helped me understand that I recognized psychopaths and their motivations at least partially as a result of my traumatic past. Spotting those behavior patterns was a matter of survival.

"I do understand you, at least somewhat," I said. "And I respect your power. I recognize ability and dedication to practice when I see it. But at the end of the day, you've killed a lot of innocent people and put more innocent people in jail for the crimes you committed. I don't know if there's any redemption for you even if you wanted it."

"Part of me wants to want it," Pierce said quietly. "But I'd only ever be pretending."

Suddenly the charming smile was back, as if he'd flipped a switch or realized he'd made himself a little too vulnerable and returned to his favorite persona—the one that got him elected district attorney, among other things.

"That doesn't mean we can't be allies," he said. "Unprecedented times call for unprecedented associations. We both know this is the calm before the storm. You'd be wise to find the strongest boat you can."

"I prefer my own boat," I countered. "That way I know who's on it and how seaworthy it is. And I prefer to steer rather than be taken for a ride."

His smile turned sardonic. "And yet you've chosen to be the consort and future mate of an alpha werewolf. Do you steer your own course, or does he take care of that for you?" He glanced meaningfully in the direction of the woods. "I'm sure he's out there somewhere, waiting for you or getting ready to lead his pack in an attack on me. Did he send you in to distract me? Or to try to sweet-talk me into giving up my evil ways?"

"Neither. He is here with our pack, in case you were less than hospitable when I arrived."

His smile became a grin. "Instead we've had a nice chat and you got a tour of my private blood garden, all out of his sight. What will he think of that, I wonder?" He slid his hand from my shoulder and down my arm. "What will he think of my scent all over you?"

My eyes went to something behind him. "I dunno. Why don't you ask him?"