Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,89
me, but Carson shoved Johnson into their path, flattening two like bowling pins and linebackering another into an empty mummy case. There were five of them and one of him, and I don’t know how he did it, but he kept them off me.
“Whatever you’re going to do, Sunshine,” he said, slamming the lid of the case and trapping a minion inside, “do it now.”
I used every bit of my strength to tie Oosterhouse, and the Black Jackal with him, to the foundation of the gigantic museum itself. I went down to the sublevels, where nerdy scientists spent their days, nights, and happy afterlife. Their remnants were faint but mighty, and they grabbed on and knit the Jackal’s essence to the bedrock.
He flailed at the binding, the power of his fury sending his minions staggering. It bought Carson and me a few seconds to get our feet under us. I couldn’t remember falling, but as I staggered upright I had cuts on my hands and knees from the shrapnel of the museum display cases littering the floor.
“Come on,” said Carson. “Let’s get out of here.”
I pressed a bloody hand to my aching head. “We have to clear out the museum. I don’t know what the Jackal will do to try to get loose. I bound him, but he can still work his magic. And there is a freaking arsenal of remnant energy here.”
“I don’t think clearing the museum will be a problem,” said Carson as shrieks continued to echo through the building.
The Jackal realized we were escaping. He spread his arms and the Brotherhood got up, riding a wave of renewed energy. Johnson, whose nose was obviously broken, looked at Carson with murder in his blackening eyes.
“Brethren who bear my mark,” said the Jackal, like a priest at an altar, “I am the guardian of the well of souls. What I have is yours. Take it and use it well.”
Then he blew another infinite breath, like he had with the mummies, breathing power into the henchmen. Raw power, raw energy ten times more potent than any I had ever felt.
It just kept coming. There didn’t seem to be any end to it. Where was it coming from? Not anything in the room, from some bottomless well …
I am the guardian of the well of souls.
I shuddered at the idea. Surely that was another overdramatization.
“Get them,” said the Jackal, abruptly pragmatic. “And if you can’t bring them back alive, just bring back the book.”
The brethren turned toward us. The shared power that the Jackal had given them crackled like a static field that prickled my skin and raised my hair.
Johnson smirked through his split lip and wiped the blood from his mouth. “With pleasure,” he said.
Carson grabbed my arm and started pulling. “Now. We’re going now.”
I was already moving.
Carson and I ran through exhibit halls, following the trail of undead looters—shreds of ancient linen wrappings caught on toppled signs, a spatter of blood on a torn display. Ahead of us were the screams of terrified children and behind us was the sound of pursuit.
“Come on,” said Carson, like I needed to be told twice.
We burst out of the exhibit into a hallway, with Johnson on our heels. I glanced back in time to see him push out his hands, just like he’d pushed the ghost volcano at us before. I flashed on the drowning magic he’d used against Carson, just as a wall of water gushed from nowhere and washed my feet out from under me.
I crashed into Carson and we went tumbling over each other, swept down the hall until we smacked up against a glass case, arms and legs in a sodden tangle.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way,” I wheezed, after I spit a mouthful of salt water over his shoulder.
“No promises,” he said, climbing off me as the wave receded. “Not if we make it out of here.”
There was an incentive, if I needed one other than staying alive.
Carson rolled to his feet and helped me up as Johnson stalked toward us, shoes squishing on the wet floor, murder in his eye. The one that wasn’t swollen shut.
“How do you like taking orders from a dead man?” I asked him.
“No problem when it’s something I want to do anyway.” He pushed the air again, and I caught my breath, ready for another flood. But nothing happened. The last deluge had used the remains of that ghost magic. Something else was coming.