Raven willed his shields to full strength and started walking towards the cave. The closer he got, the more certain he was that the darkness he felt related somehow to what he had sensed in the mind of the poor, doomed, hay farmer. The closer he went to the cave, the more he could feel it, pressing against his shields. Like some ravening animal it stalked him, sniffing at the edge of his defenses for some weakness. And still he kept on. He had survived full battle with William. Twice. He would survive this or die trying. No one else stood a chance. Cassandra, maybe, in the fullness of her powers, but he still had almost nine years on her in terms of experience. Not to mention, if it came to a choice between sacrificing her and sacrificing himself, well, he knew what the right choice would be. Not only because Ravenscrofts were gentlemen as well as dark mages, but also, because if anyone deserved life, it was his beloved. And if anyone had crimes that could only be washed away with blood, it was he. That she would never agree with this assessment only proved how accurate it was.
Step-by-step, up the trail. He was breathing hard before he made it halfway to the cave. He was not that out of shape, but the struggle went beyond the physical. And still he pressed on. At the rim of the cave, now, and his heart pounded in his chest as though it would bruise his ribs. And still, he continued into the cave. Made it as far as the spear-holding petroglyph warrior. Was that a trick of the light, or was it actually glowing? Power pulsated out of it, white in the darkness, pushing back at him.
He bowed to it. “Do you remember me? You and I, I think, are on the same side. I need to pass, to get into the cave, to learn what is going on here.” He turned, took another step into the cave, and hit a wall. Literally. He saw nothing between him and the darker recesses of the cave, but something stopped his progress as though a stone wall stood in his way. Just like, what did they call them? Force fields, in those mundane science fiction shows that Chuckie and Cass sometimes made him watch when Chuckie came from the coast for a visit.
He turned back to the warrior. “You must let me pass. Those you are charged to protect are gone, for the most part. But I think, over all, you ally more with human life than whatever is beyond to this barrier. You must let me pass.”
It wasn’t like hearing words in his head, no, nothing like that. It was more like knowing someone’s thoughts as though they were his own. Someone, or something, whichever category the warrior fell into. I have no enmity for you. And for that reason alone I would not let you go further. But the barrier is all that holds the darkness at bay. Letting anything cross the barrier would only weaken it. You are not strong enough to hold back the shadow that threatens here. Only one human has ever done so, one woman and the borrowed strength of her tribe, back in the long ago. Even then she paid with her life.
“Perhaps you mistake me,” Raven said. “I am myself not without power.”
Oh, I know who you are. The Raven who tricked his own master to bring light back to a darkening world. You are powerful, yes. Nearly as powerful as she was, but you do not have the will and strength of the tribe behind you. Nor would you know what to do with it, for your tradition is a solitary one.
It was, perhaps, a simplification of the difference between Art and Craft, that he was not here to split hairs with a disembodied spirit. Was the warrior trying to tell him he should bring in Mother Crone? Much as he respected her, this did not seem to be her sort of thing.
The craft of this time is different. They have ceded battle magic to the Art, yours is a world with its soul split in two.
There was a case to be made for the value of specialization, but he was not going to get into that here and now.
Besides, the shadow returns now stronger than ever for the ages it waited in silence. Stronger for all of the other worlds it has devoured since last it was turned back from this one. I will hold the line as long as I can, for when I fail, it will devour this world as well. And all the bright life this world holds will fall into the darkness.
This felt like a nightmare, a nightmare or some bad movie that Cassandra’s Guardian friends would watch, throwing popcorn at the screen in his parlor while he was trying to read in the study. And yet. . .
It felt real. It was real, as real as William had been. He knew it in his bones. He could feel, too, the darkness behind the invisible wall. It leaked through in spots, leaked through and flowed forth like some horrible invisible mist. Felt, but not seen. When this wall failed, and it would inevitably fail, what came through would be too powerful for him to stop.
He backed out of the cave, then turned and fled, going as fast as he dared in his city shoes down the uneven rock-strewn path. A retreat, not a surrender. He would research, he would consult, he would find a way.
Not familiar with firearms, it almost took him too long to recognize the sheriff’s shooter stance, feet shoulder-width apart, arms outstretched, both hands supporting the gun aimed directly at him.
Chapter Fourteen
Raven skidded to a stop and struck with spell lightning. Only at the last second did sense override instinct so that he aimed just at the Sheriff’s feet, a distraction rather than a killing blow. Fast as Raven was, he would not have been fast enough, except for the way that firearms often went a little bit wrong around magic. The bullet that had been aimed at his chest went wide, and he felt a sharp slice like the sting of a knife blade grazed his arm. What the hell?
Rage and betrayal only lasted long enough for him to look into the other man’s eyes, which were wide and wild. Something was very, very wrong.
The sheriff stepped back, shaking his head, and dropped the gun. It clattered on the stone path. And then the sheriff himself fell to his knees, shaking, his chest heaving like a bellows as he gasped. Raven approached him slowly, step by careful step, never taking his eyes off the man, nor off the gun that lay on the rocks between them.
“Get up,” Raven said, voice calm and commanding. It was a voice he heard dozens of Guardians use at at least half a dozen crime scenes. He held his magic to hand, ready to defend himself, to kill if need be. “Get up. Move away from the gun.”
The sheriff’s face was white beneath the tan. He did not stand, but scuttled backwards like a child doing a crab walk. When the man was far enough back for safety, Raven stepped forward slowly. He picked up the gun and clicked on the safety, glad that the Mundane liaison had insisted on that much training before allowing Raven anywhere near a joint operation a few months back. Raven looked down the black metal thing in his hands, having no more idea what to do with it than a rookie Mundane cop would know what to do with an ancient tome on necromancy. An ancient tome written in Greek. At last he threw it to the side, as far away down the hill as he could. Possibly not the most responsible way to dispose of a firearm, he supposed, but that was not his chief concern at the moment. Probably at some point the deputy lowest in the Devil’s Crossing hierarchy would be sent to look for it. If the gun had been damaged, well, most people who took aim at a Ravenscroft did not come off so easy. If the sheriff kicked up a fuss, Raven could buy him a new gun.
“I don’t know what happened,” the sheriff gasped, shaking his head as though he didn’t believe his own words. “I mean I do, but I don’t. It was like in a nightmare. I was watching myself act but it wasn’t me. Something using my knowledge of weapons, the muscle memory I developed on the firing range. It was overwhelming my mind, saying that you were a danger that needed to be destroyed. I knew that the something was wrong. But I just couldn’t, I couldn’t —”
Raven held his hands out placating only. “I know, I know. Deep breaths, calm down.” This was not a part of policing he had any training in, nor, to be honest, any particular skill. Gods, what he wouldn’t do to have Cassandra here, or even Rafe at this point. “How about now. Are you all right now?”
“Yes, I think so. Yes. But how can you trust that, how can I trust that?”
“Because you are stronger than Heilman, far stronger. In both magic and in will. And because we are going to be moving away from the sphe
re of influence. Can you get up on your own, do you think?”
He hoped like hell the man could, because he didn’t feel confident enough to get within striking distance until they were a bit further away and the sheriff had proven himself a little more stable.
The sheriff got slowly to his feet, still a little unsteady.
“Can you walk?”
The sheriff nodded.
Raven had his doubts, but they’d see. “Lead the way then.”
Neither of them was in any shape to teleport just yet, and he was not going to be turning his back to the man for a long time. He didn’t think the sheriff had actually intended harm to him, and he was fairly certain the dark influence had gone. Still, he was rather attached to his life and he was not going to give it up carelessly.
They hiked about a mile in silence, Raven’s arm hurting with every jolting step. It was something one didn’t think about until now. How connected the body is, how every movement from every part of the body could hurt a seemingly unrelated limb. He looked down at his arm. There was a dark, wet patch surrounding the torn fabric of the black Brooks Brothers shirt. At some point they would have to do something about that.
The trail widened, and the sheriff slowed so that Raven could walk beside him. He did so, still keeping a cautious space. The sense of oppressive darkness had faded to nearly nothing, to where it might be nothing more than imagination.
“How bad did I hit you?” The sheriff’s voice was raspy, and a little too soft, as though he were the one who had been hit.
Raven suppose that, in a sense, he had been, just not with the bullet. “Not bad. A graze.”
“Let me see.” The sheriff stopped, and Raven halted beside him, hesitating only a moment before letting the man close enough that he could part the torn fabric to see the wound beneath.
The sheriff breathed in sharply, the air whistling between his teeth. “You’ll need to get that seen to. There’s a Mercy Medical over in the next town. Healers and Mundane physicians both. Supposedly it’s to give you a choice, but practically speaking, for urgent care you take who you can get and are glad for it. Hard to staff out here. Most people who have put that much time into a healer’s or doctor’s degree want a little more out of life than a movie theater showing third run movies and an hour-long drive to a grocery store that mostly carries staples.”
“We both know I can’t go to a hospital,” Raven said.
The sheriff scoffed. “Why? You got a warrant out I don’t know about? Thought all that got cleared up years ago.”
“You know damned well there’s no warrant, just like you know why we can’t go to the hospital. Even I know they’re required to report gunshot wounds, and I’m only a consultant.”
“Never took part in a cover-up in my life, I don’t intend to start now. I did what I did, and I can own up to it.”
“Noble,” Raven growled. “Noble, but stupid. We both know it was not your fault you shot me. If that weren’t the case, you’d be a smoking corpse a mile back and I’d be facing a lot of paperwork with GII.”
“I don’t lie on my reports.”
Raven started walking back down the trail. The sheriff stood his ground a moment, and then trotted his few steps to catch up.
“We’re not lying,” Raven said. “Just omitting unnecessary facts.”
“Maybe when you were a dark mage, you got in the habit of playing fast and loose with the truth, but—”
Raven stopped walking and rounded on him. “If I hadn’t learned to play fast and loose with the truth, William would’ve made a book cover of my hide and gone on to take over the whole of Three Communities,” he snarled. “You think I care what a country sheriff does with his career? We’re looking at something big here. Something that could be a threat to the whole state, perhaps the whole country. Maybe even the world. GII isn’t sending anyone, and I don’t have time to break in another sparkly-clean sheriff too blinded by his own radiance to see beyond the end of his nose. You’re more tolerant than what I expected to find, more intelligent, too. I don’t expect to get that lucky a second time. So just swallow your self-righteous pride so we can get the situation managed before more people die.”
For a moment, he expected the man to continue arguing with him. Maybe insist on grinding his career into the ground with the heel of his honor, to hell with what would best serve his community.
The sheriff made a choked sound that might have been a laugh. “You always this complementary with local law enforcement?”
Raven chuckled. “Not always. Some of them I wouldn’t bother saving from themselves, and good riddance. But you are right that I do need this taken care of.” He nodded toward his arm. “How good are you with healing magic?”
“Mmm, not so much. I mean I took the basic first-aid course as part of my training. I know some healing magic, but surely not up to your standards.”
Raven smiled grimly. “I doubt that, seeing as I have no standards at all. Healing was never my strongest skill even before. . .”
Before he knelt to William and became a dark mage.
“You’re kidding right?” He paused. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
Everyone in the magical community knew that if one did enough dark magic, they would lose the ability to do healing magic. Raven had done a lot of dark magic in his life, and could attest that one did not lose all healing magic. The raw power for healing was greatly diminished, not gone entirely. But the ability to handle that healing energy in any meaningful way, that was another story. When you factored in that it was always harder to doctor one’s own wounds and the fact that he hadn’t used healing magic in decades for any purpose other than banishing soul stealers, his healing abilities were as good as non-existent.
“Doesn’t it come back? Eventually, I mean,” the sheriff asked.
Raven shrugged one shoulder. “Probably not. No dark mage has gone long enough without using dark magic to test the theory.”
“But it’s been years for you. Surely —” the sheriff said, and then stopped talking abruptly.
No doubt he was remembering yesterday’s incident. Probably wondering if there had been more. He wouldn’t be wrong to wonder. Raven stiffened his shoulders, waiting for the accusations, or questions at the least. He heard the sheriff beside him draw breath to speak, and then blow it out again a long, smooth, exhale.
“Well,” the sheriff said with forced aplomb. “We’ll just have to see what I can do for you then. But if there is any sign of infection, any at all, you’re going to the hospital and no arguments.”
Raven gave a noncommittal smile. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Fifteen
After a brief discussion, they agreed that they’d recovered enough from the shock of the events to be safe to teleport. At least he hoped that they were. Truth was, they were too far out to hike back to civilization, and on a weekday, they were unlikely to encounter anyone who could give them a ride. After some discussion, Raven teleported back to the bed-and-breakfast, and let the sheriff use him as a teleport anchor in order to follow. Raven set Craig up on the couch with a tall glass of water, and a smaller glass of wine, figuring that the man could use both. Honestly, of the two of them, the sheriff looked more like the one who had been shot.
As an afterthought, he set out the cheese and crackers. It wouldn’t do for either of them to drink on an empty stomach. He picked up the receiver of the old-fashioned landline phone and pressed the number that said your host. When Jasmine picked up, he explained the situation and soon she was at the door with a first-aid kit. She offered to stay and assist but Raven waved the offer away, explaining it was just a little scratch that he’d gotten in an unfortunate incident that occurred on a hike. She looked him up and down but said nothing.
“Yes, I know I’m not dressed for it,” Raven forced a rueful and somewhat sheepish tone into his voice. “I’ve already been told so. Apparently, city shoes aren’t good for hiking. It, ah, may have contributed to the accident.”
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She left him then to his faux manly embarrassment and went back to her painting. He didn’t know if she would recognize the bullet graze for what it was, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
The sheriff snorted. “You may have left off dark magic, you may be married to a GII agent and work for them, but no one can say that woman of yours made an honest man of you.”
Raven turned to him and shrugged. “Well, we were on a hike, there was an unfortunate incident, and I have been told in the past that hiking in city clothes is not a good idea. I merely said it may have contributed to the accident. It also might not have.”
The sheriff got up, took the first-aid kit from Raven, and pushed him toward a stool. “All I can say is, I guess we’re lucky you’re on our side now.”
Raven laughed. “All my magical skill and training and what you appreciate is my ability to lie with a straight face.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I see how it is.”
Craig reached out and ripped the sleeve from Raven’s shirt. At Raven’s offended look, he shrugged. “The shirt was ruined anyway. I can’t imagine that either you or your little lady spend much time sewing and mending.”
Little lady? Now the man was just being deliberately provocative. He was fortunate Cassandra wasn’t here. Of course, he didn’t think Craig would use the phrase in her hearing, even as the joke he intended it to be. The man had to have some sense of self-preservation to survive in law enforcement.
The sheriff opened the first-aid kit and rummaged through its contents. He selected a small package, ripped it open and—
“Ouch!” Raven exclaimed. “Try a warning next time.” He had a fairly high threshold of pain, but he hadn’t been prepared.
“Just a little antiseptic. Wouldn’t have thought you’d be such a baby about it. When you’re not actually a healer, it’s best to use as much mundane stuff as you can before you apply the mojo.”
“They taught you that in cop school, did they?”
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