The spell reached a crescendo; the dead woman screamed.
Then, as the soul eater was sent back to the realm from which it had been drawn, she exploded.
Chapter Fourteen
Leaving us covered in blood, flesh, and bone.
It felt like slime. Warm, red slime.
I vomited.
A heartbeat later, so did Belle.
“Well, that was unexpected.”
Maelle’s voice vibrated with an edge that spoke of hunger. The gore explosion might have been contained within the boundaries of our magic, leaving her untouched, but I very much suspected it would not remain that way for long. That once we’d left, she would strip off and bathe in the bloody remains of her feeder.
“Yes, it was.” I stripped off my sweater, and then used the inside of it to wipe away the worst of the gore from my face and hair, gagging as I did. “And it’s not over yet. We still have to hunt down our witch.”
But the sense of him was fading from this place. He was on the run, and that meant we had to get out there, and fast, otherwise we’d lose him.
And if we did, he’d have time to summon another soul eater. Or maybe even something worse.
“You cannot go into a room half-filled with werewolves reeking of a slaughterhouse,” she said. “It will cause the very problem we are trying to avoid.”
“I can’t just let him go, either—”
“I’m not for a second suggesting that you do.” She glanced past me. “Roger, please provide the ladies replacement clothing, and then escort them both outside via the tunnel.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have a tunnel?”
“One never lives to my age without taking all manner of precautions. Go.”
We deactivated the containment spell and then followed Roger from the room. The door was closed and locked firmly behind us. No one was getting in to disturb Maelle’s blood bath.
I gagged at the thought, but there was utterly nothing left in my stomach to regurgitate. About halfway down the stairwell, Roger paused and pressed his hand against the wall. A scanner kicked into gear, read his prints, and then a door opened. The room beyond was small, and filled with all sort of armaments, from medieval-looking things right through to modern. There was also a selection of clothing, and, of all things, a refrigerator. I did not want to know what sort of liquid it might be chilling.
Roger gave Belle a quick look, and then pulled a pair of slim jeans and a loose top from one of the racks. “These should fit nicely. There’s a towel to your right that you might want to use first.”
As she stripped off and cleaned up, he moved to a drawer, pulled out a pair of flat shoes, and handed them to her. Like the jeans, they fit perfectly.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Once upon a time, I was a tailor. I haven’t really lost the knack, even though it’s a cover we’ve sadly not used for many years now.” He repeated the process for me and, once we’d both changed and had brushed as much gore from our hair as was possible, added, “This way, please.”
He led us through another door and then along a small, dark corridor that had obviously been built between two rooms. The club’s music vibrated against the wall to our right, but there was nothing but silence coming from the other side. Maybe it was a storeroom. Or maybe it was some sort of safe room for Maelle. She’d have more than one of them, of that I had no doubt.
After a few more twists and turns, a heavy metal door appeared. Roger again placed his hand against the reader to open the door, and then stepped to one side and waved us through. “Happy hunting, ladies.”
I didn’t bother replying. I just dug my phone out of the pack and ran for the front of the building. There was no immediate sign of our dark witch—not on the street, not in the air.
“He’s on the run, and already a couple of streets away,” Belle said. “Or so say the spirits.”
“Can you ask them to keep track of him for us?”
“They are. They’re as pissed off as us at what just happened.”
“It’s not like they were the ones who got exploded over.”