She cocked her head as her ears strained.
The drumming of hooves grew louder a few seconds before a black horse emerged
from around the magnolia on the east corner of the house. Even from that distance,
the pooka’s bright-yellow eyes caught her attention.
Unafraid, she held her ground as he skidded
to a halt in front of her. Of all the Clan, she’d not expected to find the
pooka still here. She would have pegged him as a lover of death and chaos,
battle and bloodshed his sweetest joys. But then again, perhaps it somehow made
sense he’d be the one to stay behind. He wanted to return to the world of magic
with a desperation the other fae lacked. And since she was the pooka’s ticket
home, Gregory probably didn’t have to coerce him into the role of a bodyguard.
Very well. She had a use for him, too. Actually . . . he’d fit her plan nicely.
She didn’t want to risk an innocent.
“Well?” she asked, even though she could
feel what was going on from the gargoyle’s thoughts. The battle was joined—he
and Gran had caught up to the rearguard of the enemies. They fought back-to-back,
holding their own, but were unable to break through the guard and go after
Jason’s captors. Anger and frustration fueled Gran’s magic and she dealt blow
after blow with her quarterstaff. Gregory was ruthless, decapitating and
gutting and maiming with each strike of his claws. But for every enemy they
took down, more came out of the forest to continue the battle. The Riven were
like the Hydra: take one head and two more came out of nowhere, ready to bite.
Pooka raised his head and lipped at the
breeze. “They fight well. I would bring your grandmother with me into the Magic
Realm if she would come. There she could realize her full power—and a full long
life. Not like these short quarter-lives the Coven experience here.”
“Now is hardly the time to think of that.”
“What else would you talk about while we
await this battle’s outcome?”
“How about why we’re standing here talking
instead of doing something about the enemies invading our land? You must hate
having to stay behind.”
The pooka shook his head and snorted, and then
trotted in a half circle around her. “It is of no consequence.”
“Gregory commanded you to stay with me and
now you can’t enjoy a ‘bit of fun.’”
“The gargoyle didn’t trust the
single-horned fool to protect you.”
Lillian nearly grinned at the rivalry
between the pooka and unicorn.
He bobbed his head, ears swinging back.
“The dryads are good at misleading and confusing a trail in the forest, but
they are no warriors. So I stayed to protect you—from nothing. I sense no evil
nearby.”
Lillian nodded agreement, though his
statement wasn’t entirely true. She sensed a great darkness very near, rearing
up within her own soul now that Gregory was in danger again. Perhaps a darkness
greater even than the Riven. “I don’t plan on sitting and doing nothing. Can I
count on you to aid me with a little task?”
His ears swiveled forward.
“As a reward, I will take you through the
Veil.” She called her magic and reached out, running a hand along his neck. His
skin shuddered at her touch, but he leaned into her caress, butting his muzzle
into her stomach. He tilted his head to the side as one yellow eye rolled to
study her.
“To which land?”
She sighed—smart pooka. “Do you really care
as long as it gets you away from this place?”
His tail slapped his rump and he pawed at
the ground. “No,” he said at last.
“Then serve me well, because I am a Power
and those under me shall be rewarded.”
He bobbed his head once more and fell in
line beside her when she resumed her walk to the house. There was one other
thing she still needed.
* * *
Lillian was closing the patio door when
Kayla hurried into the kitchen.
“You’re here? Sable and the unicorn are out
searching for you. How did they miss you?” Kayla asked.
Lillian kept her expression remote, and
hopefully a little worry colored the look. “I must have missed them.” She had
seen the other two, but had used her magic to hide from the unicorn. It worked
far better than she’d expected. Unfortunately, the unicorn had bolted in the
direction of the fighting. He’d probably thought she’d gone to join the battle.
Now she only had as long as it took the unicorn to reach Gregory to accomplish
her plan. Oh well, she didn’t need long.
She’d been able to keep her true thoughts
from Gregory by giving him random images of her wandering through the house,
pacing and worrying with the other dryads while they awaited news. It had
worked so far, but now she’d have to work fast to stay ahead of the gargoyle.
If he caught her before she completed her plan, he’d get hurt.
She didn’t want to see him or anyone else
get hurt because of her. Everything was her fault. But she was about to make it
right.
Lillian speared Kayla with a dark look.
“Where’s the demon blade? What did they do with it?”
The other dryad stopped wringing her hands
and clasped them in front of her waist.
“Tell me.” Lillian laced her words with
magic.
“They took it to the attic.”
Ah, her grandfather’s chest.
Lillian smiled and thanked Kayla, then
reached into her mind and stole the memory of their conversation. The other
dryad whimpered and slumped into a nearby chair. Lillian left Kayla behind with
a muttered apology. It was better the other dryad didn’t know more about her
plan. The fewer clues for Gregory to go on, the longer it would take him to
realize what she was up to. She hoped. Or he might bludgeon on her mental
shields until he found out. Either way would slow him a little.
Lillian continued until she came to the
attic’s stairs. The air at the top was thick with dust and hot from the
afternoon sun beating on the south side of the roof. She navigated the clutter
on the floor, and followed the fresh tracks in the dust. Far back in the east
corner of the big attic, she found the old cedar chest. Worn and discolored
with time, it didn’t look like much, but it was solid. Its metal hinges and
lock glistened with fresh oil. She ran a finger along the domed lid, sensing
her gargoyle’s magic. The sturdy padlock would slow most mundane modes of
entrance. But the faint blue shimmer that flared when she touched it was the
chest’s primary means of protection.
An ancient memory awoke. She closed her
eyes and reached inward. Power welled up from within. It overflowed her body
and spilled out onto the chest. Directing the magic was easier than she
thought. When she judged she’d poured enough onto the lid, she imagined it
digging in—digging deep, past the shimmer of blue warding, into the grain of
the cedar.
Opening her eyes, she looked down upon the
chest and curled her fingers into a claw. Her hand still hovering above the
chest, she made an upwards jerking motion. The lid issued a deep groan of
strained wood as it gave way. Three chunks of old cedar planking flew out and
away from her to slam into the rafters and bare walls. Silence returned after
the echoes died away. Leaning forward, she glanced into the shadowed bottom of
the trunk. The demon blade glittered dully.
She snatched up the dagger. Its hilt was
chilled and the blade vibrated in her hand. It projected its eagerness to draw
on blood and death.
“You will serve me,” she told it with a
single-mindedness to match its own.
It shivered in her hand. Its agreement,
assured. There was no doubt in her mind.
The pooka’s speed blurred the forest into
vague shadows all around Lillian. While he galloped full out, he slowed enough so
that sharp turns and twists in the trail didn’t throw her. She was lucky. Had
he been less mindful of his rider, her meager skills probably would have failed
her. Her grand plan of self-sacrifice would have ended then and there.
“This is far enough,” she shouted over the
whistle of the wind in her ears and the thunder of his hooves.
“As you command, lady.”
When the pooka slowed, she unwound her
hands from his mane. He eased into a trot, picking his way through the forest.
Birds chirped, hopping through the canopy high above. A squirrel perched on a
branch overhanging the trail, its tail wagging in aggravation. The peace of the
forest did not sooth her. She tried to relax by drawing in deep breaths. She
managed to unclench her fisted hands, but no command from her mind could loosen
the tense muscles along her shoulders and lower back.
A weight at her side reminded her of her
decision. The demon blade bore more than a physical weight—something dragged on
her soul. Even sheathed, she could still feel its pull, its will working away
at her mental shield. She knew how to fix that. Memories from another time were
resurfacing with each use of magic.
Drawing the blade, she held it at eye level
a moment, turning it this way and that, looking for the runes her memories said
would be on such a blade. Oh, yes, there. Close to the hilt, two finely etched
symbols. Only two.
Death. Thief.
Simple. Effective. All the demon blade
needed. It had no other purpose, only to bring death by stealing life energy.
Until now.
She lowered the blade and brought its tip
down against her other palm. A quick, short pull and blood gushed up to stain
the blade. A brief sting, a cold drawing sensation and the demon blade began to
feed. She let the blade drink her power for a few seconds more.
“
Enough
.” Her thought rang with
power. The demon spirit in the blade stilled and listened to her. Its
uncertainty and curiosity came across the blood link. While she had its attention,
she touched a thumb to the first rune.
Thief. Steal life.
The word rang with power. She touched the
second rune.
Bring death.
A third rune of power burned itself into
the demon blade.
And serve only me.
The dagger bucked in her hand, fighting the
command, but it was no match for her power. It calmed, then turned its
attention to her. Waiting. Wanting to hunt and kill.
“
Soon
.” She promised.
“But first,
tell me where your brothers wait.”
It did not tell her in words or show her
images as she had hoped, but it did answer her, linking with another of its
kind somewhere to the north and west of her position. Like she did when she
wanted to know where her gargoyle was, its magic tugged at her mind, urging her
in that direction.
She glanced at the pooka. He’d remained
still throughout the whole ritual with the blade, but now he rolled a
white-ringed yellow eye back at her, his skin shuddering like it was fly
season.
She grinned at the pooka. “Shall we make
like thieves and steal our enemies’ lives, and bring them death?”
“Yes.”
* * *
They rode in silence as they headed in the
direction the demon blade urged. No more birds sang or flew between the trees,
nor were there any squirrels or chipmunks or other creatures of the forest.
They sensed what she did. The stink of evil hit Lillian’s senses, thickening as
they rode nearer. She liked the scent no better than the wildlife did.
Had she a choice, she’d have fled the area,
too.
“We’re almost there,” she told the pooka.
“Good. If that wretched vampire stench
gets any worse, I will let you walk the rest of the way, great lady.”
Did all the beasties have overly
sensitive noses?
She grinned. At least it made her
like the pooka a little bit more than she had before.
Thinking of sensitive creatures summoned an
image of her gargoyle, and her smile faltered. He hadn’t yet found out about
her plan. Her throat constricted at the thought of his panic when he did, and
then later for the guilt he’d experience. He would see it as his failure. The
thought of his grief was nearly enough to make her turn back. Almost, but not
quite. She wouldn’t let any more innocents die because of her. And, as big,
scary and ancient as he was, her gargoyle was an innocent. She would not let
him become a victim. If the Lady of Battles got her hands on him, she would do
all in her considerable power to make him into her creature.
A change in the pooka’s gait drew Lillian’s
attention from her thoughts. They had reached their destination. The forest
opened up into a small clearing, created when one old tree had collapsed and
taken down another of its neighbors. Standing in the center of the meadow, five
men awaited the pooka’s approach.
To call them men was perhaps inaccurate. A
faint power, laced with the scent of vampire, wafted off the nearest one. He
turned his head in her direction, but made no other move, his stillness
unnatural. The pooka hadn’t tried to hide his approach, so she wasn’t expecting
to sneak up on them, but these five looked like they knew she was coming.
“Mistress,”
the blade whispered in her mind.
“They knew I was tracking them.”
“You told them I was coming?”
“Yes, so that we might begin the hunt.”
“You have done well.”
It was probably best she not surprise them,
as she doubted they took being surprised at all well. She wasn’t ready to die
yet, not until their masters were in range.
The pooka halted a few feet away from the
closest vampire, but he jerked his head back toward the forest and snorted. A
dire wolf padded out of the trees, his pace slowed by the added weight of a rider.
The newcomer was another pale-skinned fae. This one was short and boyish
looking, but the glint in his eyes told Lillian this was no child. Evil
emanated the strongest from him. A true demon, her power told her. A lesser
version of what slept within her soul.
“You’ve made this far easier than I ever
hoped,” the demon boy said in sweet tones. “I assume you’ve come in trade for
the male?”
“My brother lives?”
“Yes.”
She’d been certain he was, but hearing he
still lived unlocked something in her heart. She could do this. “If you free my
brother unharmed, I will come with you willingly. No tricks.”
“Very well.”
“Where is my brother?”
“He is elsewhere. We’ll take you to him and
then you can watch as he escapes.”
“Agreed.”
“Then come.” He gestured at the center of
the little circle where they stood.
She nodded and dismounted. The pooka
followed her as closely as her gargoyle would have. But she didn’t feel safe.
“My friend will carry my brother to
safety.” By the sound of the pooka’s tail slapping his rump, he wasn’t happy
with her volunteering his services, but he didn’t disagree either, so she had
his agreement.
The four older-looking men took a few steps
apart, making room for the pooka inside their circle. The demon boy stayed
close to Lillian. When she and the pooka were in the exact middle, the four
strangers each drew a demon blade from their belts and held them aloft. When
the first started to chant, Lillian cringed. Her skin crawled with the power
rising up from the ground. Dark and twisted, it swirled around her and the
pooka until she wanted to gag. She tried to block out the chanting as it rose
and fell, making her ears ache with the strain to understand what they said.
The chanting increased, peaking like a wave’s crest, and then the men plunged
their daggers into the ground. The world went black.
* * *
Gregory patrolled the battlefield and
dispatched anything that still moved and reeked of evil. He snarled at a broken
vampire as it tried to crawl away into the shadows to hide and heal. Never
again. With a thought, his magic surged up and burned the creature to ash. He
whirled away and moved to the next. He was dispatching another vampire when
Vivian called out to him and gestured behind him. He turned in the direction
Lillian’s grandmother pointed. Sable and the unicorn raced toward him.
If they were here instead of guarding
Lillian . . .
He froze, his earlier joy at dispatching
evil gone.
The thoughts of his lady were still in his
mind. She worried over a steaming cup of tea while she paced the kitchen,
awaiting his return. Had he been thinking clearly, he’d have realized the cup
of tea would have long gone cold. But he hadn’t been blessed with clear
thinking since he’d first scented his lady.
She had lied to him. Lied to protect him.
He shook his head, his mane flying out around him as horror and rage broke
something within him. It was too much to contain; it would tear his soul apart.
He roared his anguish.
The fae and dire wolves froze in place.
Some sent anxious looks in his direction. Vivian said nothing, just stared at
him with a look of shock and horror. She didn’t need to say anything. Her
expression said it all: she had just lost two grandchildren to the Riven
instead of one. He reached out to her mind and her despair hit him, slamming
into him with a force as great as his rage.
“When you find the demons, kill them all,”
she whispered, “let none of them escape.” Her voice broke. “So shall it be.”
“So shall it be,”
he echoed in his thoughts.
He tensed his hindquarters, bunching the
muscles, and sprang into motion. When he was running at top speed and the trees
were shadows and the ground a blur, he unfolded his wings and leapt. His wings
slapped the air, lifting him further from the ground with each down sweep.
By the time he found Lillian, it would be
too late. Far, far too late. He had failed her, again. There would only be
blood, vengeance, and death when he reached the end of his flight.