The Voodoo Killings Read Online Free Page A

it’s probably more the geographical location of the city itself. Near water—and all of Seattle is pretty near water—the barrier to the Otherside is paper-thin.
    Tonight, as soon as I tapped it, cold Otherside flooded my head in a rush. I bit back the usual wave of nausea and waited for Otherside energy to fill my skull. Once I had stabilized my globe, I opened my eyes to a world bathed in the telltale grey Otherside haze. I looked at Cameron as I let Otherside expand around me like ripples from a raindrop.
    As the first wave of energy hit Cameron, he drew in a sharp breath and gripped the arms of my kitchen chair. He started to stand but sat back down as I sent a second wave at him.
    “Cameron, just stay still,” I said, my teeth clenched. “You just need to put up with me for a few seconds.”
    I searched first for the gold glow of his bindings. I picked up the four anchoring lines, heavier and brighter than the rest, running through his arms and legs. All four lines coalesced in one spot, Cameron’s heart, in a bright gold beacon typical of Western and African bindings. Then the secondary lines flared into view, branching off the main lines and into his fingers and feet, getting thinner and thinner until they were fine gold threads that reminded me of nerve endings. It was good work. Most practitioners wouldn’t have bothered with the fingertips. They’d have called it a day at the wrist, maybe the palm if they were feeling generous. So with such careful bindings, why the hell was he in such bad shape?
    I checked his head next. I expected to see a fifth line, but there was none.
    Shit. He was one line short of a full deck.
    Without a fifth anchoring line in his head, no amount of human brains could fix him. I’d been sure he was a five-line, but whoever had raised Cameron had meant him to be temporary. With the detail on the hands, it had to be Max, or else there was another very good practitioner lurking around Seattle.
    Not that it mattered. I couldn’t leave Cameron up and running with only four lines. I’d have to put him back myself.
    I took a deep breath, pushed the Otherside nausea down, and readied to untie his lines.
    “Kincaid?” Cameron said through clenched teeth. He was still gripping the arms of the chair.
    “Not much longer, Cameron,” I said. Almost over .
    I pushed more Otherside through his lines and flushed out the symbols: traces of the incantations used to write the bindings onto Cameron’s body, the bolts that were holding his lines together, so to speak.
    Cameron winced as the symbols flared a gold only I could see. Sweat collected on my upper lip. One more push and then everything would unravel, and whatever was left of Cameron’s ghost would siphon back to the Otherside. He’d never know what hit him. Or at least that was the plan.
    I sent the final wave at Cameron.
    And that’s when things got weird.
    The four main animation symbols, all ones I recognized from classic voodoo, floated up from each of the anchor lines. I expected that. But then six more symbols flashed to life inside his head.
    Cameron arched as if in the throes of a seizure, his head twisting. The six new symbols flared brighter and brighter. Celtic? Norse wasn’t out of the question either. Then a fifth line leading from Cameron’s heart to his head, the one I’d expected to find in the first place, flickered into existence. The six strange symbols brightened as Cameron convulsed, and then they began to spin slowly, like gears in a clock.
    “Kincaid.” Cameron’s voice was strained. No kidding.
    I sent another wave of Otherside towards him, hoping the symbols would stop their revolutions. Instead, they sped up, and all five main anchoring lines wavered. Cameron convulsed again.
    Shit, I was hurting him.
    I might not recognize the architecture of that fifth line, but Cameron sure as hell wasn’t a four-line zombie.
    I dropped my globe, letting the Otherside flood back across the barrier before any more