Nightfall

by Elizabeth Hartwell

  Brandon’s lips tighten as he thinks, and after a minute, he nods slowly. “Yeah . . . no, I don’t think I’m a parent. Anyway, I don’t know shit about parenting, so you might as well answer the question for me.”

  “Parents don’t want to be away from their kids,” I answer honestly. “At least, good ones don’t. I mean, look at the way White faced us down when we were standing outside his house. We could have been the gods themselves, and he would have still spit in our eyes and pulled the trigger if we’d forced the issue.”

  “I can agree with you there,” Brandon says, picking up his spear again and thrusting it forward before flipping the ends and using it like a pole. It’s a good move, and when he finishes with a quick swipe and stab downward, I can almost imagine his enemy getting impaled upon the seven inches of steel on the tip of his spear. “So, what’s your idea?”

  “Why not take the whole family?” I ask simply. Brandon looks at me like I’ve suddenly gone insane, and I hold up my hand. “Just listen for a minute. The farm can provide us with plenty of supplies. And we can haul ass back to the mountains, where quite frankly, it’d take divine knowledge to find us. Tym’s a great woodsman. I bet that farmer knows a trick or two himself, and Cerena’s no slouch.”

  “So what’s the plan, just hole up until what, the end of the planet?”

  “No, but if we can keep them safe, then we can talk with Loki and maybe Tyr, see what they can tell us. Maybe they can direct us to some allies, someone who can help us even the odds a little bit. Loki did tell me that help would be on the way.”

  Brandon sets his spear in the sand and leans on it, musing. “And what if there’s a flaw in your plan?”

  “There’s a flaw in most of my plans,” I answer with a laugh. “Usually, I get out of it with a smile, a wisecrack, and hopefully, most of my ass intact. This time, though, I figure with your three big brains backing me up, we can do better than that.”

  Brandon nods and goes back to his practice until Cerena and Tym return about a half hour later. Tym’s carrying enough wood to make a small house, it seems, and Cerena’s carrying our water bottles easily.

  “Lance has a new idea,” Brandon says before Tym and Cerena can even drop their loads. “Thinks we should kidnap the whole family.”

  “What?” Cerena asks, and I sigh. I really wish I’d gotten a chance to break the news myself, but I can’t turn back time.

  Just stop it.

  That doesn’t help right now, so I take the time to explain my entire idea again to Cerena and Tym the right way, letting them pepper me with questions the way they do. It’s actually helpful, and as Brandon sits and interrupts from time to time, I get my idea out again, this time slightly refined. Like the fact that I never intended to kidnap them.

  “So in the end, we take the supplies in a trailer or something. The four biggest of us can sit in the back while Cerena, Sienna, and Mrs. White can ride in the cab. It’ll be a bit crowded, but with the truck sitting charged for two days, we can make it in easy time.”

  Cerena still looks unconvinced. “And just how are we supposed to get this family to leave their farm? I mean, the man was attacked and rebuilt right over top of his own shelter.”

  “She’s got a point, Lance. A nice idea, but without some sort of threat, I don’t see them moving,” Tym says. “Unless you happen to have some werewolves in your back pocket.”

  “No . . . but I bet someone will be by soon enough,” I muse, sharpening my knife again. “The hairs on the back of my neck keep standing up, and that doesn’t happen often. In the meantime, maybe I can go talk to the family.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Tym says, but I turn to Cerena and give her my best puppy dog eyes. It’s pretty much a superpower all in itself, one that has no known defense anywhere in the Scorched Earth.

  She sighs, rolling her eyes as she plants her hands on her hips. “Fine . . . but you’d better bring your ass back here in one piece.”

  “Plan on it.”

  I find Mr. White in his field, squatting down next to a row of something and picking out what I guess are weeds.

  “Beans?”

  He looks up, unsurprised at my approach. I wasn’t trying to be stealthy.

  “Potatoes, actually. Let me guess. You’re not much of the planting type, are you?”

  “Can’t say I am,” I admit as he goes back to his work. “I’ve done plenty of traveling, but never been a farmer.”

  “Not too late to learn,” Mr. White says, holding up a weed and pointing to the various parts. “See this tri-leaf? It’s a weed that’ll kill my potatoes as sure as fire. How about you put yourself to work if you’re going to tire my ears out with more talk?”

  Shrugging, I get down in the row next to his, looking for the leaf. I find one and pull it out, surprised at how hard the root is to get out of the ground. “Tough buggers.”

  “That’s how they kill the potatoes. They get deep enough that they send out a thousand little roots and just choke off the other plants,” Mr. White says. “They were originally brought down from the north because they’ll grow anywhere and break up hard, rocky soil quickly. A field of these things will turn rock into topsoil in just a few seasons. And grazing animals like it too. But it’s a weed down here. We don’t get the cold that keeps it under control.”

  “I understand. Hey . . . what’s your name, anyway? I’m Lance.”

  “I remember. And the name’s Anton,” Mr. White says as he scoots down the row a little bit. “Anton White. So, you got a last name?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “Growing up in the city of Bane, you don’t get a last name until you start earning some notoriety. I guess if I had to give one, it’d be Lokison, but that sounds pretty damn stupid, in my opinion.”

  Anton chuckles. “That it does. In the north, they use that system. Everyone has three names. A given name, a name derived as either -son, -dottir, or -born, and then a clan name. So what brings you here?”

  “Wanted to tell a story,” I reply, pulling another weed. “About my growing up. You see, being a child of Loki, you don’t exactly get anything approaching a normal childhood. For good or bad.”

  “You strike me as someone who likes to push the edge.”

  I chuckle, nodding. “I did. If I didn’t have my abilities, I probably wouldn’t have lived to ten years old, the amount of shit I started. But I’ll never forget the incident that really sent me on my way . . . when I lost my mother.”

  Anton looks up, his eyes surprised. “She’s gone?”

  I nod, looking down at the dirt. “I’d gone out the night before. I was eleven and thought I could do whatever I wanted. It wasn’t like anyone was looking out for me anyway, or at least that’s what I thought. My mother, of course, kept nagging the hell out of me, but for some reason, she didn’t have the same abilities I do. She could entangle me so securely that even a Hunter blade wouldn’t pierce the strings, but stopping time? Nobody else in Bane, that I knew of, had that skill. So if I could see it coming, nobody could catch me. It made me feel pretty damn invulnerable, in my own way.”

  “I can see that,” Anton says, rubbing his fingers on the leg of his pants. “But you have to see it coming.”

  “Which is what happened to me. I’d gone out, started some shit, got in trouble, got out of there, normal night. When I got home, though, I figured that she’d rag me out some. But when I got to the little shithole that was our place, it was empty.”

  Anton grunts, pulling another weed. “What happened?”

  “She’d had enough,” I answer honestly, painfully. “I learned later that while I was gone, a couple of the vamps I’d pissed off came by and wanted repayment for what I’d done to them. They didn’t do anything to her, but they said if they had to come back, they were going to inflict permanent damage. That was the last straw, I guess. My mother grabbed what shit she had and disappeared. Never heard from her again.”

  “I see . . . and now you vow to be better than that?”


  “Better?” I respond, shaking my head and chuckling darkly. “I spent the next decade being even worse. But after meeting Cerena, I’m trying to be better. Because you’re right . . . I don’t want to see a little girl pulled from her family. I don’t want to see the same shit that I saw in Bane, and some of the same shit that happened to me in Bane, come here. I’d like for Sienna to grow up with her mom and dad.”

  “But you want to take my daughter away from me and my wife.”

  “Actually, I had another idea this morning,” I admit. “How about you three coming with us? Your daughter’s more important than a crop of potatoes, Anton.”

  I can see him think about it. He’s about to say something when we’re both interrupted by a scream from the back, and I’m running toward the sound, going around the house to see three werewolves attacking Mrs. White and Sienna.

  “Hand over the little girl,” the one who’s most human growls, “and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Leave us alone!” Mrs. White screams, holding a rake in front of her like that would mean anything. Behind her, the family horse is neighing and going bonkers, scared out of its mind at the three predators, his instincts telling him to run, to get away.

  I understand how the horse feels. Because my first instinct is to stop time, run like hell, and melt away before things get worse. But not this time . . . this time, I’m gonna do what Cerena would do.

  “Not until Lucian has his tasty treat,” the one werewolf says, and before he can make his first step, I’m in motion. Firing entanglement at the lead wolf, I stop time, pulling my knives as I close the distance with the remaining two that are upright.

  It’s at the limits of my ability, stopping time to cover this much distance. But if I don’t, Sienna’s going to die. I stab the first under the chin, piercing the brain and yanking my blade out quickly. I can feel my control slipping but have enough time to wrap my arm around the second wolf’s neck just as time kicks back into motion.

  The new, unexpected weight on his back sends the werewolf tumbling to the ground. As his hairy paws reach for my arm, I plunge my knife down into his chest, cursing as my blade bounces off his ribs the first time before the second stab finds the gap between his ribs and I slide my blade home.

  I’m exhausted, but there’s still one wolf to deal with, the leader of this trio. He’s trying to fight off my entanglement, but the fresh netting is wrapped tightly around his lower legs. He’s not going anywhere.

  That doesn’t make him easy to deal with, however. He’s still growling, hair sprouting as he stares at me with hate in his eyes. “Our Alpha will feast on your liver, Trickster. You killed my brother.”

  I stomp down on his balls, grinding my heel into the area that’s sensitive whatever form a werewolf’s in. “Before we’re done, we’ll kill every member of your clan if we have to,” I promise before thrusting my knife into his thigh.

  It’s the safe cut, away from his claws while severing his femoral artery, and hot werewolf blood sprays over my chest and face before I can stand up. In ten seconds, he’s dead, and I look over at the Whites, where Anton and his wife embrace their daughter.

  “They won’t stop,” I promise him. “There’ll be another group coming.”

  Anton stands up and nods. “Give us an hour to pack.”

  My knees go to jelly, and I stumble to the ground, chuckling. “You can probably take more time than that. But go get Cerena, one of you? I’m . . . out.”

  And I am.

  Chapter 22

  Cerena

  It’s not an hour to get everything packed. In fact, it’s nearly four hours by the time Anton White comes running up to our site, we throw everything in our truck, and hightail it to the White farm, where we find Mrs. White and Sienna watching over Lance, who’s sitting up but still looking to be on the trembling edge of exhaustion as we pull up.

  “Three werewolves,” Brandon notes as he hops down from the back, looking at the corpses. It’s clear in his voice that he’s impressed. “Pretty good job there, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Yeah, well, guess that extra sleep last night was helpful. But I’m starved,” Lance says, and I almost do a double-take when Sienna pulls away from her mother long enough to run inside their house. She comes out a minute later with a whole armload of food carried in the loose part of her smock, topped by a piece of cheese easily the size of my fist.

  “Here you are, Mr. Lance,” Sienna says, blushing a little when Lance gives her one of his trademark smiles. I know he’s just being nice, but I can tell when a little girl just found her first crush . . . and honestly, I’m not jealous at all.

  Sienna could do a lot worse than Lance to crush on. He must have looked like a real-life superhero to her, coming out of nowhere to take on three monsters and dispatching them without her getting even a scratch.

  But preparing to leave takes nearly three hours, mostly because of just how much stuff the family has. In addition to enough food to last the seven of us for weeks, the Whites have to do their best to put together packs for their other supplies.

  The problem is that since they’re farmers, they don’t know how to travel with everything they need on their bodies. Their water filtration system is huge and ungainly, their clothes bulky, meant for protection against harsh winds or cold weather standing out in a field, not for being on the move.

  At least they have some weapons, and as Anton White brings out his shotgun with twin bandoliers containing over a hundred rounds for the gun, even I have to whistle. “What type of load are they?”

  “Lead buckshot,” he says as he places the gun in the passenger seat of the truck. “Ten-gauge Magnum. It’s old, but it’s reliable and will take a werewolf’s head off at twenty yards.”

  The next challenge is hooking the Whites’ wagon to our truck. It’s a farm cart, meant for being pulled not by a truck but by a horse, and as such doesn’t have a hitch of any kind. Instead, we have to take a half hour to cut down the cart’s double poles to create something manageable for the truck.

  That accomplished, we then take a wide, strong piece of wood and lash it in place before attaching the whole thing to the truck with another length of stout rope. Most of the work is done by Tym and Anton, who seem to get along almost immediately as they bond over the mechanical problem.

  “I wouldn’t drive this thing over twenty miles an hour,” Tym says quietly when the whole thing’s finished. “Slower in rough conditions. It’s a good cart, but it’s not built for speed.”

  I nod in agreement, worried. It’s ungainly, and I’m not sure if we should even try this. “Then I’ll leave one of my swords in the back with you. If we need to, we dump the trailer by cutting the rope. It’ll cost us food . . . but it could save our ass.”

  “Agreed,” Tym says, taking my sword before he starts helping Anton and Brandon load up the essentials in the back of the truck. Taking a moment, I go inside the house, where Lance is relaxing some more and gorging himself while drinking as much water as he can.

  “Might as well,” he says when he sees me, offering me a large piece of meat. “Sienna says it’ll all go to waste anyway, and there’s no way I can down it all. Even Tym would be pressed to fill his belly with everything we’re going to have to leave behind.”

  “Yeah, well, make sure anything preserved or canned is either in the trailer or in the shelter,” I tell Sienna. “A good meal now is nice, but even better will be having a full stomach two days from now as we reach the mountains.”

  Mrs. White sees the look in my eyes and herds her daughter out of the house. I sit down next to Lance, who at least looks a little chagrined. When we’re alone, he sets his cup down. “Don’t be mad. I mean, it’s the first time I’ve gotten to get a few props for being the hero.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “And here I was thinking you’d played the hero for me and gotten rewarded for it. So I suppose I should just stop thanking you for all your good work and let Sienna bring you sandwiches for the rest of
our mission?”

  “Gods, no,” Lance says, wincing. “Okay, okay. I’ll help everyone finish and then make sure Sienna understands I’m with you.”

  “Actually, before you do that, I have a question,” I reply, putting my hand on his. “Lance, it isn’t that I don’t think you fought your ass off, and I’m sure those three werewolves would have killed the Whites and you too. But . . . you didn’t somehow set this all up, did you? Lure them here in order to make your point?”

  “You mean those three fleabags?” Lance asks, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Hell, no! Cerena, I came out here to try and sweet-talk Anton. I didn’t expect to find those three. If I had, don’t you think I would have been better armed than just my two fighting knives? Or brought a little backup?”

  I nod and give his hand a squeeze. “I just had to check. Lance, I trust you, but the timing was just . . . I had to know.”

  Lance gives my hand a squeeze back and nods. “I understand. Listen, I know I didn’t do anything, but I can’t put it past Loki. He’s the god of deception, the ultimate trickster, and my idea to come out here sort of came out of nowhere. I even told Anton about some things that . . . well, I haven’t even told you yet. I promise I will, though, but—”

  “But it wasn’t time,” I confirm for him. He nods, and I lean over, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure you’ll tell me when the time’s right.”

  “I promise. It wasn’t that I was keeping a secret, just that it didn’t ever quite flow in our conversations. They’re not the sorts of things you just pop out around the evening campfire, you know?”

  “Okay. Just do me a promise,” I tell him as we stand up. “If your grandfather does happen to drop in for another one of his dream-time chats or whatever they are, ask him. And regardless of his answer, tell him that siccing werewolves on our ass is not appreciated.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Lance says before grinning. “So . . . was my lady impressed?”