“We’re nothing alike,” I said.
“Would she do such a thing?” Harcourt pointed toward the woman and her dog. Suddenly, a bad feeling settled in my stomach. Like he’d done something—poisoned the scraggly grass, rigged a spell to explode that would blind the woman when she left the park.
Before I knew it, my hands were on the shotgun.
“You don’t touch her, you son of a bitch,” I said, pressing the barrel to his temple.
“I had no such plans, dear Ruby.” Harcourt slipped the thumbs into his suit jacket, returning with a folded piece of parchment. “As agreed. This is the map to the Tributary.”
“And how did you get this?”
“I stole it for you,” Harcourt said, like the answer was obvious. “And for that, I was banished.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you might need it on a rainy day, love.” Harcourt looked pleased with himself.
“But why?” I nudged his head with the gun. If he gave me some best friends forever nonsense, I was going to have a hell of a time not pulling the trigger.
“Because you saved my life.”
That was worse. “Not this time.”
“I would be disappointed if you let me go. Then I would have misjudged you.”
“What did you tell Roark?” I asked.
Harcourt peered at me, glee dancing in his eyes. “Where he could find the truth.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The Tributary can fulfill any wish. Show any truth. Grant untold power to those who drink deeply from it.” The quarter-grin returned. “Including knowledge of what might have happened down in the Underworld.”
“What happened?”
“Tick tock, dear Ruby. Is that a question you need answered?”
I racked the slide and said, “Have it your way.”
“I should warn you, however.” Harcourt looked unperturbed by the shotgun still pressed against his weathered skin. “I have sent the directions to everyone.”
“Everyone knows about the Tributary.”
“It would not be chaos, otherwise.” Harcourt flashed his quarter-grin. “But you are the only one who can take that route. The others must find a different path.”
“How generous.”
“Five hours before the entrance closes once more, dear Ruby. I would hurry.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“A final gift. From an old friend.”
I pulled the trigger, the boom reverberating across the placid park. The dog yipped twice and raced back to its owner, leaving its ball behind in the mud. The woman stared at the source of the sound, our eyes locking at a hundred yards.
Then she fled like the hounds of hell were screaming at her heels.
I wiped the blood off my cheek and flipped open the folded parchment. If he wasn’t screwing with me, then the Tributary was accessible through the Fae Plains. And the nearest entrance to the Fae Plains was about forty miles south, in the Arizona desert.
I peered at the paper, making sure it contained no hidden enchantments. After a close inspection confirmed it didn’t, I turned the map over. On the back, written in an elegant, sprawling hand, was Harcourt’s final message.
Thank you, dear Ruby, for finally fulfilling your bounty.
“Figures.” I didn’t glance back at his body as I rose from the park bench. The Fae rarely lived past fifty. If anything, I’d done him a mercy. Shotgun braced against my shoulder, I sprinted away from the park.
It was time to learn what fate had befallen Roark.
11
Hour 8
Forty miles outside of Phoenix, the stolen truck began to smoke and bounce. I eased my lead foot off the accelerator. But I’d push it too far, too fast. The vehicle died in a plume of thick black exhaust, coming to a stop in front of a large divot in the highway.
I checked the map. As good a place to head out on foot as any. If Harcourt was right, the entrance to the Fae Plains was around here somewhere. Black storm clouds hovered above, rain sprinkling the desert. I pocketed the map and scanned the gray horizon for marauders.
Nothing. I leaned against the truck’s rusty door and took another booster shot. Only two left. Too bad Harcourt hadn’t cut to the chase. Or Roark had told me where to find him. Hell, a heads up from Pearl would’ve sufficed.
I could’ve shaved a bunch of time off this deal.
But things were never easy. Malcolm was threatening the world with a display of power. Roark had disappeared into the desert. And MagiTekk had reverse-engineered my abilities to allow themselves passage among the Realms—including the Tributary.
Staring at the bleak, empty landscape as the shot took effect, I didn’t like my options. Checking the Realmpiece yielded nothing. The wisps were all over the place, some headed west, others hanging around the truck. I had to assume they were wonky because I was running close to E.
“Where the fuck are you Roark?” But I got no answer except the patter of rain against the broken road. I held the phone up to the sky, but reception out here was nil. At least it confirmed that Roark had likely been here.
There was one final option. It would sap energy I didn’t have, but I couldn’t walk around the desert blindly for the next four hours. I had one shot at entering the Tributary. Like an eclipse or comet, I suspected such opportunities were rare.
Miss this one, and I’d be screwed.
So I closed my eyes, channeling a vision. It wasn’t my best honed skill, but I’d managed to trigger one during the loop. A glimpse into the future, enough to know that Roark would survive. Hopefully, this one would give me a similar insight.
Pain flared through my temples, but I fought through. A single image came through: smoke drifting from a dilapidated wooden shack, alone in the rain-streaked dust. Then it was gone, and I was on the ground, gasping, the smell of wet pavement filling my nostrils.
The wisps coalesced, drifting past my nose to form a line to the northeast. Guess the vision had been enough to calibrate my intuition.
Body aching, I rose stiffly and walked across the lonesome desert. Twenty minutes later, the road just a memory behind me, I spotted the same crumbling shack on the horizon. Flooded with adrenaline, I picked up the pace. The shotgun bounced in my hands as I jogged across the empty plains.
Just like I’d seen, smoke trickled from the cabin’s makeshift chimney, suggesting someone was home. Pushing against the creaky wood as quietly as I could, I peered into the darkness.
A growl greeted me, and I stumbled back.
Racking the shotgun, I said, “I’m just looking for the Fae Plains.”
There was a shrill bark. Then, a familiar voice said, “Ruby?”
A dappled black-and-white snout poked out from the crack, sniffing the wet air. I lowered the shotgun and said, “Argos?”
The dog nudged the door open and hauled ass across the soggy desert, leaping into my arms. His tail pounded like a metronome as he licked my face.
“It’s been too long.” The border collie wriggled, tumbling out of grasp. Slightly embarrassed—his behavior unbefitting for the man of wealth and taste he aspired to be—Argos settled for darting around my legs before finally coming to a panting halt. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I said, looking at the crumbling shack.
“The Fae Plains,” the dog said, puffing out his chest, restoring his sense of academic gravitas, “you’re not looking for the Tributary, too, by any chance?”
I stared at his brown eyes and sharp snout. There was a long silence, the distant claps of thunder being the only sound.
Finally, I said, “I think we’d better start from the beginning.”
12
Hour 9
Argos welcomed me into their clean, if sparse, base of operations. The main room tripled as a kitchen and bedroom. In the adjacent room, a man sat in the corner by a buckling wooden table, staring at an array of monitors.
His aura still bore s
trains of half-demon, even though he was now mortal. Heavy flecks of gray ran through his once jet-black hair.
“Clock’s winding down,” Kalos Aeon said, by way of hello. He didn’t turn around.
“Good to see you, too.”
“You left without saying goodbye last time,” Kalos said. “Figured that’s what we did.”
He didn’t sound angry about it. More amused—like continuing this thread was part of our friendship. Argos hopped up on the table, and Kalos gave him a scratch on the ears. The dog shook it off and barked.
“He only likes me,” I said.
“That might be true.” It wasn’t, of course. Kalos and Argos had been best friends for 3,000 years, ever since the then half-demon had saved the border collie from the Underworld. “You’re here for the Tributary.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No other reason to be out here.”
“You got any whiskey?” I sat on a rickety stool by the table. The entire shack might have been twenty feet by twenty.
“What do you think we do for fun?” He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. I followed the angle, tracing it to a hanging wire rack filled with dusty bottles. I found one with a faded black label and took a pull.
“You see a man out here?” I asked, looking around the humble dwelling. Besides the light hum of a generator outside, the air was still. Our conversation sounded louder than a gunshot. “Brown hair, lean, wears a—”
“Ruby’s got herself a little crush, buddy.” Kalos didn’t look away from the screens. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Need I remind you, asshole, I still carry a gun.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I set the bottle down forcefully, hoping to jar Kalos from his typing. He didn’t even jump. He must’ve practiced those Zen exercises of his a lot since I’d seen him over twenty years. No longer being half-demon probably helped a whole lot, too, with rashness.
Hell, the wisps didn’t even change colors around his head. Just cool, even blue.
Kalos finished typing and leaned back in his plain chair. The screen flashed behind him, and I heard him sigh. He gave a slight nod to Argos, then rose and finally turned.
I guess, after the wait, I expected him to be different. Missing an eye. Blind or scarred beyond recognition. The computer was something new. I don’t think I’d seen Kalos touch one back when I’d last known him.
But aside from some wrinkles tugging at the edge of his eyes, he was still the same man I’d met back in 1812. If I squinted hard enough, he looked the same as when he’d staggered into my father’s print shop, bleeding from a werewolf bite. A little older, and a hell of a lot calmer, sure. He stretched to his full height in the cramped shack and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. That was different.
Being turned back to mortal hadn’t shrunk him, at least; he still looked about six-two. A biometric wristband clung to his forearm. I’d seen them on some of the folks in Phoenix. Injected nutrient supplements, telomeres, that type of thing. The trademark .45 was strapped to his hip, which made me breathe a little easier.
Same old Kalos, when it came down to it.
“Get a little stiffer than I used to,” Kalos said. “Perks of mortality.”
“What were you doing?” I asked, nodding toward the screens. He and Argos shared a look. “Hey, you gotta trust someone.”
That was a tall order, even though we’d all shared quite a few near-death experiences. We’d trekked through Agonia, that place worse than Hell, together. And almost hadn’t made it, because the demon magic had eroded his soul. Dark magic tended to do that. Everything in the universe had an equal and opposite reaction—even matters of essence.
Kalos looked at me. I’d never gotten this impression before, but the 7,000 years of experience seemed etched upon his soul. Flowing around him, a sage ambiance about his gaze. Maybe it was the gray hairs. I half expected his eyes to glow with the dim remnants of his lost magical powers, but they were simply brown.
I peered at the former half-demon, trying to read him. What would it be like if my powers suddenly disappeared? I had been mortal once, but that was so long ago that it was no longer even my life.
Rebecca had been meek, afraid. Reading about adventure, but never having any of her own.
Ruby was always roaming, never backing down from a challenge.
He’d sacrificed the core of his being to save Argos from certain death. Would I do the same for anyone?
I didn’t know. A supernatural creature renouncing their identity was no small thing. Most would rather die than become mortal. But he seemed at peace with the decision.
The easy silence began to make me feel anxious, so I figured I’d make the first move.
I took the map out of my pocket and put it on the table, next to the whiskey. Argos eagerly trotted over to examine it.
No one spoke for a long time. The border collie’s ears flicked back.
“It’s legit,” I said.
“That’s where the entrance is? My predictions were off, Kal.” So his current expression was professional embarrassment. Good to know.
Kalos glanced at the screen. “Give me the approximate coordinates.”
Argos did so, and Kalos entered them into the computer. After a second, the workstation processed matters, and Kalos nodded.
“It’ll take a little while to process, but it looks solid.” He raised the whiskey bottle toward me. “It must be fate, Ruby.”
“I guess you can call it that,” I said. “Why the hell do you need to reach the Tributary?”
“The world needs to be brought together,” Kalos said. “And you’re going to help us do it.”
“I live to serve,” I said, with biting sarcasm.
“You can’t deny it. What are the chances?” Kalos shook his head. “We’re meant to work together again.”
“Maybe you’re meant to work for me,” I said in a low growl.
Kalos shrugged. “And what do you want in the Tributary?”
It was an obvious question, but it still managed to catch me off guard. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just been focused on finding Roark.
And keeping MagiTekk from getting it.
“I want to see it burn.” It felt strange, saying it aloud. Like screaming there is no God in a church. But I knew, deep in my soul, that it was the only course.
Destroying the origin of all magical life. That was what Pearl had changed me.
Kalos raised one of his eyebrows. The dog let out a small whine. This wasn’t a popular opinion, out here in the shack. They’d been looking for the Tributary for who knows how long, staking their dreams on its existence.
A needle in a stack of needles in a needle factory.
And here I had come knocking on their door, just as the clock ticked down. A wondrous stroke of good fortune. Except for one thing: I didn’t share their vision.
Argos cleared his throat and opened his snout. Then he shut it and laid down on the table.
“And your plans are better, I presume?” I said, finally breaking the awkward silence.
“When you water a seed long enough, something wondrous springs from the ashes, Ruby.” A warm smile spread across the former half-demon’s face. “The water can help us finish my destiny.”
“Which is?” I seemed to recall something about bridging the mortal and supernatural worlds. And helping create some sort of goddess. My brow furrowed. “Where’s that chick you had a crush on? Naomi?”
“Nadia,” Kalos said. “The water at the source can help make her a goddess. Heal the world.”
I groaned. That was it. What a load of crap. I seemed to recall Nadia shooting at us, pissed at Kalos for not turning her into a creature of essence. That ship, however, had long since sailed.
Peering at him suspiciously, I asked, “What’d you end up doing with all those artifacts?”
“Took them to the alchemist,” Kalos said, a pained look in his eyes. Breaking a promi
se to someone you once loved was a bitch. Twenty-two years ago, we’d tracked down five artifacts of untold power chronicled in the rather appropriately titled Journal of Annihilation. If one person controlled them all, they’d be able to control all the essence in the world.
I’m sure MagiTekk would’ve collectively creamed their corporate suits at the prospect if they’d have been around at that point. But an old lover of Kalos’s—a powerful witch who he’d saved from the frozen wilds 3,000 years prior—had appropriated the artifacts, eager to assume goddess-like power for herself. To save the world from destruction, he’d had to kill her.
“And then?” I asked, having a good idea where this led.
“Melted them all down. Woden’s Spear, too.” Kalos looked at me. “Nadia took the distilled essence.”
“Jesus.”
“She’s only an eighth of a goddess. Maybe a quarter.”
“Oh, is that all?” I asked. I’d seen what happened when people chased god-like power. Even when it was under the auspices of fixing the world or doing good, it always went wrong. Like hell was I going to let Kalos use the source to juice up his girlfriend.
I decided to drop the subject.
“And Gunnar?” Kalos’s dapper vampire friend.
“He lives alone in the mountains.” Kalos’s voice fell. “He spent a long time in the Boise Internment Camp. Never quite the same after that.”
“Join the club.” I pulled from the whiskey. “Except I feel fine.”
“Not everyone’s made of Teflon,” Kalos said with a sad smile. The computer finished processing some data and emitted a chime. From the live footage, it seemed he had repositioned a satellite to get a view of the entrance to the Fae Plains.
“That’s not good,” I said, stating the obvious. Kalos tapped a few keys, zooming in the feed.
A shambling army encroached on a rotting wooden entrance.
And one man stood before them, firing into the mouth of the abyss.
Colton Roark.
13
Kalos brushed dirt from his black hair as we sprinted across the desert. Rain sprinkled down from the gray sky, lightning cracking on the flat horizon. His .45 flashed as he adjusted his white t-shirt.
Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3) Page 6