The Paladins (29 page)

“Are you Rosamond?” I stage whisper. “How do you know me?”

“Oh. M’gosh! I’m so glad you’re here!” Is she blind? Why is she talking to the shrubbery way over there? “Call me Rose, okay?”

What I’d like to call this chick is noisy. I’m sure she’s excited. I would be too if I thought I was getting out of this effing madhouse, but her girly squeak is practically a shout. And I don’t exactly want my arrival broadcasted. “Okay, Rose. How do you know me?”

“I would know you anywhere, Raven.” Her tone hardens as she says my name. It’s odd, but she quickly resumes her high-pitched excitement. “Where’s Gideon and Cole?”

“We got separated. Can you come down?”

“Sorry. Pan locks the door and has the only key.”

When her gaze doesn’t leave the hedge, fear pokes my ribs. I pivot to watch with her. “Is he coming?”

“Who?”

“Pan.”

“Oh. I don’t think so, why?”

“Never mind.” I scan the courtyard for something to jimmy the door open with. This isn’t like opening a hotel door with your keycard, or even using a Slim Jim on a car—not that I have either of those items anyway.

The tower door is thick, old wood, the wrought iron hinges are massive. Finding nothing useful near me, my hands settle on my hips. I blow out a long breath.

“What are you doing?” Rose asks.

I step back and look up. “Trying to get you out.”

She’s sitting on the sill with one leg dangling down the wall, or half a leg. Her foot disappears in mist. “I need tools that I don’t have to get you out.”

Her leg swings. “Hmm, hang on a minute!” I’m standing right here, but she yells as though I’m a mile off. Inside the turret, several crashes—not unlike those of a major car accident—bounce off the stone. When she reappears, she tosses something out the window.

Heart in my throat, I jump back to avoid having my head bashed in. Metal clatters on the pavers. “Hey!”

“Will that work?”

A three-foot bed slat lies at my feet. I swallow, and count to ten until I’m calm. Cole’s girl is cute, adorable even, and … I’m sorry, but first impressions indicate she’s as helpless as a newborn bunny and just as bright.

“Thanks,” I mumble, lifting the slat.

“Oh no, Raven. Thank
you!
”

Lord, help me.
I walk to the door and wedge the end of the bar against the handle. I apply steady pressure, left, right, up, down. It won’t budge. I try again with the hinges, finally resorting to whacking them with all of my strength. The cool air doesn’t prevent sweat from beading on my forehead.

“Did you get it open yet?” Rose’s voice floats down from her perch on the sill above.

Seriously? I pause in my battle with the stubborn door. My shoulder slumps against the wood in defeat. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.” I hear the terseness in my voice. My frustration isn’t her fault, but my patience is wearing thin. I need help.
The garden!

“What’s funny?” Rose asks.

I didn’t realize I’d laughed out loud. “Hang tight, Rose. I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, good. Me, too.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I’m too absorbed with the jasmine I see climbing up the stone arch to ask.
Can you pick the lock? Open the door
…
?
My lids shut. I send my request out with thanks for whatever they might do to help us.

“Raven? What are you doing? I can’t see you. Are you still here?”

I don’t answer, keeping my connection with the plants strong. As my lids open, the vines are already at work. The delicate roots stuff into the keyhole. Busy with their task, they squirm and rotate until I hear a soft click.

You’re amazing, thank you. Thank you, Jasmine.

With the job done in less than sixty seconds, the vines retreat to their home as though they’d never moved. I’m thrilled different varieties of plant life respond to me the same way. Who knew this incredible link was even possible?

Pan, that’s who.

I shrug the thought off like a dirty coat, turn the handle, and push. “Rose, you can come down now, I—”

Bushes rustle behind me. I hesitate, afraid to look. Tingles cross my scalp as more leaves swish, twigs snap, branches break. For a brief moment, I pretend its Gideon, or Cole. I turn, praying it’s them.

It’s not.

Two shiny horns push through the hedge, swiftly followed by the rest of a bull’s head. Fear balloons in my chest. The beast snorts and thrashes, crushing the shrubbery under his enormous mass. As the rest of his body emerges, logic disconnects in my brain.

The charging body of the bull I expect is replaced by eight-pack abs and the bulging pectorals of a
man
. He walks upright and sports two gigantic human arms, with human hands and fingers. Below the waist, skin becomes fur with a tail and bovine legs ending in cloven hooves.

What is this thing?

In one fist, he carries a weapon. Half sword, half ax, the medieval looking blade is a fusion of two things, just like him.

The bull-man bellows, and paws the ground with his plate-sized hoof.

My lungs smother. Breath comes in shallow pants that I can’t slow. I throw myself at the door and find it closed. Frantic, I jiggle the handle, but it won’t turn. “Rose?”

There’s no reply, but I didn’t speak above a whisper, not wanting to draw the attention of … er, whatever the heck that is.

Perspiration turns cold and clammy on my skin. I jerk the door handle again without success. “Rose!”
Where is she?

I flatten myself in the corner of the doorway where shadows are deepest. There are no trees near enough the tower to climb. Asking the hedges to fight a slobbering mound of angry beef would mean their senseless deaths.

While Sales Hollow is a small rural town, I grew up inside the few city blocks of our downtown. I don’t know much about farming and less about bulls. I own a cat. What calms Edgar might not work on a bull-man.

Steam rises above his muzzle as he sniffs the air. His movements are slow and cumbersome.

Is he real, like the tower, or an illusion, like the mental hospital?

Last year in Gideon’s mansion, his stepmother Desiree influenced my dreams. Created frightening visions that felt incredibly real, like Pan’s. I pray the bull is another illusion.

The monster snorts, then angles toward the door and my hope disintegrates.
Oh, God. Can he smell me?

If I stay, he’ll kill me. If I run, he’ll kill me.

Animals sense fear, right? I know Edgar does. Right now, I’m sweating fear-bullets so big, that thing could track me through raw sewage. As a last resort, I close my eyes and slow my heart rate. I emit a sense of peace and calm, and ask for help, though I’m not sure who would answer.

Hooves scuff stone as the bull draws near. I imagine his shadow falling over me, the heat from his body warming the space between us. Does the hand holding his weapon lift, blade pause above my head ready to strike?

Eyes pinched shut, I feel him. Steamy breath blows warm and wet on my face. I’m certain it’s snot that dots my skin. The scent in my nose is fur and earth, and musk.

If you’re real, don’t hurt me.
I pray he isn’t, and ask God to bail me out, like He’s done so many times before.

The snuffling continues. So do my thoughts of,
I’ll-be-your-best-friend-if-you-don’t-squash-me
, and
Nice bull
.

Seconds tick by with an occasional scratch of hoof, maybe he shakes his head or shifts his stance.

What’s he waiting for? I crack open an eye. Not a foot from my face is a broad, furry brown head. Both my eyes open and I follow the line of his two thick horns to sharp points—perfect for stabbing. Shining brown eyes situated on either side of his head watch me.

“Hey,” I say, clearing the frog from my throat. “Aren’t you just the biggest, um … guy? Listen, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but Rose, up there in the tower? She’s my friend. I came to help her, not fight with you. Do you understand?”

He stands there, unmoving, as I babble. I get nothing but long breaths and phlegm. Much more of this and he won’t need to stab me. I’ll drown.

He shuffles his feet. Shoes. Hooves. Whatever. His nose stretches toward me. I hold my breath as his muzzle slides over my head. The bull-man sucks a breath, snorting my scent (and, I’m pretty sure, hair) up his nose. Mucus drips with a splat onto the stones below. I can only imagine the disgusting souvenirs he leaves on my skin. When he drops his nose to my shoulder, I press my lips together, sure he’ll rip a chunk out of me with his big bovine teeth.

After nuzzling me a moment, he sighs, then bends lower, running his forehead up and down my pants leg. Up and down, up and down. Holy freaking cow.
Heh, cow
. No, really. The bull is scratching his face on my thigh!

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Carefully, I place my hand on his head between his horns where the hair is longer and curls. “Can I help?” I give him a rub, and he leans in. I press harder, and he groans. The bull isn’t angry, he’s itchy. He butts me, demanding more attention, and I oblige him. Whatever he wants, he gets, as long as he’s not goring me with those horns.

Like with the oaks, I sense the bull doesn’t intend to hurt me. I relax my neck muscles, but stay alert. Change happens fast here. I’m not taking any chances.

He grunts again as my nails rake his face.

“You’re just a Ferdinand, aren’t you?” I glance at the ax still gripped in his hand. Okay, maybe not, but he’s not a mindless killer either.

Now that I know I’m not going to be skewered, I glance at the door. Somehow during the confusion it relocked. Rose must be scared to death.

Eyeing his weapon, I say, “Ferdy, do you understand me, bud?” His head lifts, and my hand falls away. “Can you help me open the door? It’s lock—”

In one smooth motion, his fist flies out sideways. Using his knuckles as a battering ram, I didn’t even finish asking, and the door is decimated with one blow.

Day-aam.

His head swings round to face me. I feel a question reaching from his mind to mine. As with the trees, the idea of his intended meaning comes through, and it appears I communicate with animals, too.

“That’s exactly what I needed. You did an awesome job.” He snorts and steps back.

I poke my head through the shattered door. The space is narrow, but torches mounted every few feet up a curling stone staircase cast a steady glow. Like a bisected seashell, the spiral ribbed steps wind up and around, disappearing behind the bend.

“Rose?”

“Raven?”

“Yeah … ” Who else would it be?

“You’re alive?”

“Er … yeah.” The shock in her voice is understandable, considering I’m standing next to a drooling, eight-foot tall freak of nature. Now that we’ve established I’m not dead and we’ve reacquainted ourselves, there’s one more introduction to make. “Come on down, okay? You’re free. And there’s someone here that I’d like you to meet.”

Raven

Lilac scents the breeze sweeping over me, diluting the pungent scent of cow. I keep watch over the bull-man, but he stands perfectly still and waits with me. I assumed he’d wander off after satisfying his curiosity. Never assume.

Rose materializes next to me. “Raven?”

I jump a foot, hand covering my hammering heart. “Whoa!” I forgot how these ghosts make no noise. Cole used to scare the crap out of me every time he popped up in the mansion last year. “You surprised me.”

“Sorry.” Her big blue eyes rivet on the bull-man, expression more confused than afraid.

“What happened?” I ask. “I couldn’t get the door open. Didn’t you hear me calling?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry. I tried, but the handle got stuck.” She watches her threading fingers, bottom lip pooching.

“Oh, no worries,” I say, totally worried she’ll cry. “Everything worked out. He’s nice.” I thumb over my shoulder at the bull-man.

“If you say so.”

There’s no point answering because unlike everything else here, her doubt is completely reasonable. Instead, I retrieve the bed slat, thinking it might come in handy later. “We’d better get going. Ferdy made enough noise with the door to call Pan down on our heads.”

Rose floats toward me over the stone pavers in the courtyard. Her lips purse as she looks at the bar in my hand. “Ferdy?”

“Short for Ferdinand. Sorry, it’s sort of a joke. He’s just not what he seems.” Or not
all
that he seems. The bull bumps my shoulder with his muzzle, and I scratch his head.

“Oh, I get it, from the children’s book, right? That’s cute. You must be an animal person.”

I continue patting the bull’s velvet nose, missing my little Edgar so much it hurts. “S’pose I am, but never on this scale. Then again, nothing here is normal, is it?”

She brushes her ghostly white hands impatiently. “Can we find the others now?”

“Definitely.” One last scratch and I drop my hand. “Bye, Ferdy.” He looks down his snout, intimidating as hell. I admit he still freaks me out a little. “Thanks for your help.”

I head the opposite direction, Rose by my side, her movements are graceful in a creeptastic sort of way. “Do you know which way to go?”