Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  “So it seems,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Thought we already checked that box twenty years ago. I absolve you.”

  I’d already heard the rap about creating a goddess. I wasn’t having any of that shit.

  Argos let out a toothless growl. I gave him a nonplussed look, and the growling ceased. Kalos looked ready to interject, but instead pointed to one of the screens. The group collectively turned and watched. Malcolm Roark appeared, wearing a dapper custom-tailored suit. He looked every part the CEO and leader.

  His eagerly anticipated announcement, one presumed. I pressed my finger against the volume control.

  “Good afternoon to all,” Malcolm began, staring coolly into the camera. “You’ve all been waiting for this announcement, so I will not disappoint or waste time with rumors. There have been many untrue rumors and accusations thrown about in the media. They are causing a great company no small degree of harm.”

  He slammed his hand against the lectern, causing Argos to bark in surprise.

  “And our mission will not be derailed by naysayers and liars. It is clear, then, that free enterprise is not working toward our collective goal. To make us safe from this supernatural scourge, and to ensure that humans are never again the target of such violence, more aggressive measures must be taken. Law enforcement, however, does not agree. They have not ceased their investigations. And so, as promised, we shall display our power.”

  Bold move, even for dear old Malcolm. His imperious tone was filled with hostility and anger. I wondered if he actually believed his rhetoric—or was merely upset about the lost earning power the inconvenience of sanctions and a plummeting stock price brought.

  “As a punishment, we have chosen one of the Four Points in the Southwest District for a special test,” Malcolm said, expression not changing. “For those unfamiliar, the Four Points are the magical hubs and capitals of the supernatural world. The locus of their power.”

  He paused for effect before delivering the final blow.

  “And now, they will understand ours.”

  The feed cut to a live weapons launch. Even the media anchors didn’t know what they were seeing. The cameras just outside Santa Fe, however, captured the scene. There was a flash of blue light, and then one of the oldest magical cities in the world was reduced to ash.

  The broadcast cut out to a multi-colored screen as the stunned anchors took a commercial break. Guess law enforcement might rethink their investigations. Malcolm had shown them all that he wasn’t bluffing.

  I blinked and said, “What the hell was that?”

  “Pure essence bomb,” Argos said. “Only theoretical, but…”

  “I’d say it’s more than theoretical.” I ran my fingers through my hair, staring at the static. This was far beyond bending. Malcolm was making a power grab for the world’s throne. With an arsenal like that, who would stand up to him? The FBI was already split, riddled with MagiTekk lackeys.

  Who knew how the rest of the government fared? I wasn’t exactly hopeful they would stand up and fight.

  “You see why we need a goddess,” Kalos said quietly. “It’s the only way to heal the world”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “I just got done dealing with some idiots who thought dredging up god-like power was a good thing.”

  “We aren’t the Crusaders of Paradisum,” Kalos said.

  “And we aren’t Malcolm Roark, either.” I wanted to say more, but bit my tongue. “We’ll find another way.”

  “That’s the only way I see.”

  “Then you’re not coming.” I pushed off the wall, feeling the cabin shudder slightly around me. I jerked my head toward Roark, indicating he should follow. “That’s the end of the story.”

  “He’ll die,” Argos said, voice whiny.

  Kalos stood in the doorway. He stepped to the side with a wary look, making no attempt to block my exit even with his skin beginning to turn the color of paper. Maybe he had two hours. Three at most. If he didn’t get the antidote soon, he’d turn into a Vanished.

  The name was accurate—once it took hold, the state was irreversible. All those souls outside lying dead in the dirt? That fate had been a mercy. There was no return from becoming a demon acolyte.

  Kalos knew this all too well. A quick glance at the half-empty fifth of whiskey told me as such.

  There was one thing I could do, though.

  I reached into the leather jacket and took out Serenity’s huge needle. For use during emergencies. Serenity’s warning about running at diminished capacity whispered in my ears. It would be useful for my journey to the Tributary. But being a total hard ass made me no different than Malcolm.

  I flipped the dagger-like syringe to the former half-demon. He caught it with a slight wince and said, “Is this meant for humans?”

  “Mystery shot,” I said with a grim smile. “Should give you enough time to get to that doctor.”

  “I’m not going to the doctor, Ruby,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. So deep that he stared into my soul. An illusion, true, since he wasn’t magical. But there was a certain magic that living 7,000 years bestowed upon you, too: that of wisdom.

  Argos yipped on the table, his claws scratching as he beelined across the surface. He leapt toward one of the workstations and mashed his wet nose against the keyboard. The terminal emitted a loud, blaring beep.

  “What if we could help?” Argos’s tail wagged as he gestured for Kalos’s help. The dog awkwardly slapped his paw against the touchpad. Being a genius stuck inside a four-legged form with no opposable thumbs had to be some sort of curse.

  “I already know where the door is.”

  Kalos flashed me a wry smile and sat down. Leaning in close to examine the screens, he let out a surprised grunt.

  “Is that a good huh or a bad one?” I asked.

  No answer came. Maybe they were going to make me say please after I put my foot down on a demonic-infected Kalos coming along for the ride. The silent seconds ticked painfully past. A glance at my watch told me that time wasn’t getting more plentiful. If the Tributary closed, I’d miss my chance. Worse, if someone arrived beforehand…

  Silly me and my logic.

  “Well?” I said, tapping my foot against the dirt floor.

  “You might know where the door is, sure,” Argos’s lip was turned up in a slightly wolfish sneer, like he had me. “But how were you planning on getting through? It’s only for Fae.”

  “I—I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.” I rubbed my forehead. This was where Harcourt’s map had led. But yes, that was a rather obvious problem: a Fae needed to accompany anyone stepping through the threshold. Otherwise, things didn’t really work. “I’ll just use a Realm Rift.”

  “Come on, Ruby,” Kalos said. “You know that won’t work.”

  I ran the numbers in my head. The nearest Realm Rift was in Las Vegas. That would burn all the remaining time, even if I could hop a plane. That was assuming the Rift was still accessible. It’d been over thirty years since I’d ventured down into the Golden Tiger’s sub-basement vault. They could’ve blown up the casino in the meantime and paved the neon desert over with a parking lot.

  “Let me guess how this ends,” I said. “I agree to bring you along and get Kalos cured and you’ll show me a Fae on your little collection of screens.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Just know I’m not on board with your god-complex agenda.”

  Argos and Kalos gave each other a quick glance that was difficult to interpret. Having allies with differing motives was never a good thing. It made it easy for your group to splinter. We’d have enough enemies in the Plains—and Tributary, if we made it that far.

  With less than two hours to go, that was an open question. In the meantime, with the clock still running, I’d just have to keep an eye out for signs of open insurrection.

  “So, where’s this elusive Fae hiding?”

  “That’s easy,” Argos said. “One of the surviving Vanished wandering ar
ound out there? They used to be a Fae.”

  “Great.” I pointed to Kalos. “You’re getting him since you’re already infected.”

  “Consider it part of the deal.” He plunged the sharp needle into his thigh, his face twisting in immense pain. The color returned to his skin slightly as he withdrew the syringe. He blinked twice and cracked his neck.

  “Feel better?”

  “Ready to make a new goddess.” Kalos winked and rushed past, the border collie at his heels.

  Lucky me to have such good friends.

  16

  Hour 11

  Let’s put it this way.

  The Fae Plains weren’t exactly a vacation spot. You heard stories through the supernatural grapevine, but they couldn’t quite prepare me for how unkind the years had been to this Realm. A dense industrial smog hovered in the air, a factory belching smoke on the green-tinted horizon.

  It’d always been cloaked in this grayish sunlight, but it seemed the recent Industrial Revolution had made the place even grayer. The entrance to the Plains closed behind us, cutting off our return to Earth. I pushed the snarling Vanished down to the weak, yellowing grass, and Kalos pulled the trigger. The loud shot echoed across the dreary landscape.

  I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes and checked my watch. A little over an hour before the Tributary closed for good.

  “No one told me we were visiting the Fallout Zone,” Roark said, blue eyes surprisingly jovial. I, for one, wasn’t in a laughing mood. But I guess for him, just being here and on the way to the Tributary was cause for celebration.

  We’d talk about his ill-fated solo journey later. For now, we needed to haul some ass.

  A loud caw knifed through the polluted air, toward which I fired an errant shot. Black feathers exploded in the grim sky, raining down upon the ragged grass-like stalks littering the ground.

  Roark gave me a look, handsome jaw set in amused consternation.

  Pulse returning to normal, I said, “Not a fucking word.”

  He shrugged, the dorky short-sleeved polo bunching up around his lean arms. I pointed toward a forest on the map, and the group fell in line, making good time. We trotted along the worn forest pathway in silence. Roark and I took lead, with Kalos and Argos trotting behind.

  I used the quiet time to reflect on when Kalos might try to eat the rest of our faces. It was hard to gauge, but the sooner we tracked down an antidote, the better.

  Two problems, besides the handful that had been bouncing around my mind since this morning.

  I had no idea where a cure might be lurking in this forsaken landscape.

  And the Fae were not exactly hospitable creatures.

  The Fae, unlike the stories, were not a benevolent species. Creatures of light essence, yes. But light and darkness didn’t dictate good and evil. Common misconception, which creatures like the Fae exploited to their lying, thieving, skullduggery-filled ends.

  But while all this rampant deception hadn’t made the Fae Plains the happy Realm from the movies—perhaps filled with frolicking meadows and candy cane forests—it also hadn’t looked quite like this last I’d seen it. Earth hadn’t been the only place to fall on recent hard times.

  I was about to break my self-imposed silence when I saw Roark reach for his holster. No matter that, between us, we had only a handful of bullets. I counted four to my name, after the standoff with the Vanished. But before he could draw, a spear whizzed past my head, embedding itself in a nearby tree.

  Eyes that glowed like radioactive cores burned in the green forest haze, accompanied by sharp fangs.

  I tried to raise the shotgun, but a gruff voice said, “I wouldn’t.”

  “And why not,” I said, scanning the deadwood forest. Where it had been abandoned moments before, an army of tribal Fae had materialized. Maybe they’d learned from Pearl’s school of stealth. I wondered if they’d also had to go back to the start of the obstacle course upon breaking a stick.

  Would explain the silent footfalls.

  Shotgun ready, I surveyed the collection of glowing eyes with suspicion.

  “This is my forest,” the leader barked. “All who enter the forest of Solon must pay a toll. It is written in stone.”

  “Stone!” The rest of the group cried like idiots.

  The sharp tips of the spears glinted in the dull sunlight snaking through the spindly branches. I weighed the available options. Fighting would deplete our already limited ammo stores—and likely end with the four of us as pincushions.

  Diplomacy, then, was the only reasonable solution.

  Stepping forward as the de facto leader of the group, I called into the forest, “And what might that toll be?”

  There was rustling in the sparse trees as the Fae conferred with one another. I waited, more annoyed than scared. Our window to enter the Tributary would close in an hour, which meant Malcolm would win—or something worse. This just seemed like an unnecessary bump in the road. To be expected while journeying through a trash heap of a Realm, to be sure, but an irritant all the same.

  The bushes finally stopped rustling with feverish activity. A single figure emerged from the darkness, on to the barren forest path. He was slight of stature, his shoulders hunched. The wrinkles at his eyes suggested that he was older—but just how old was difficult to ascertain. Few of the Fae lived past fifty, and forest living was undoubtedly not kind to his complexion.

  As he stepped closer, however, his eyes glowing green, I noticed one strange detail: a tarnished crown clinging to the sparse hair atop his head.

  The man blinked twice and said, “You.”

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” I didn’t make a habit of consorting with Fae. They tended to just cause problems. Or try to steal from you.

  It wasn’t personal. They’d do it to their own mothers.

  “I am the deposed Prince Solon,” he said with a regal air that was difficult pull off with all the dead leaves sticking to his hair. “And I have you to thank for my fall from grace.”

  “Think you got the wrong girl.”

  “No.” The usurped prince waved his stick—a rusted scepter, actually, worn down by years of roughing it in the elements. “Harcourt described the woman who brought him back here. Beautiful. Deadly. With the unbridled energy of a thousand lions.”

  “Doesn’t sound like me,” I said. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, my mind was working on overdrive, screaming fuck. I’d transported Harcourt against my will back to the Fae Plains after he’d been banished once by the very prince who stood shaking with anger before me.

  Apparently, Harcourt’s second stint in the Fae Plains had been more successful. Harcourt had staged a coup. Naturally, he himself hadn’t assumed the throne—that would have limited his ability to spread chaos throughout the Realm. But he’d done a number on old Prince Solon.

  “I would never forget his description. I can smell the scent of Earth on you, Ruby Callaway.”

  The rest of the tribe—the prince’s royal court, perhaps—sniffed the air like wild boars. My muscles tensed, wary of an imminent attack. It dawned on me that Harcourt’s map had led right through Solon’s Woods for a reason.

  If I’d hated the son of a bitch before, that disdain was boiling over to a fever pitch. Shooting him in the head once wasn’t vengeance enough.

  Prince Solon stopped sniffing the air. Leaning heavily upon the scepter, he edged forward until he was but a few feet away. A strong smell of sweat and mud swept through the smoggy air.

  I forced a smile. “You mentioned something about a toll.”

  He waggled a craggy finger at me. “I have but one thing in mind for you, Ruby.” His eyes lit up with manic glee. Never a good sign. “A special task.”

  “We’re kind of on the clock, here.” None of my companions had seen fit to chime in. I didn’t know whether that was a show of their faith in my negotiating skills, or a wary silence as the figurative ground dissolved beneath our collective feet.

  Ever the optimist, I chose to take it as a s
ign of their unflappable confidence.

  “You do not make the rule in Solon’s Woods.” He stamped the scepter into the dust.

  “No, no, of course not.” I waved my free hand in conciliatory fashion. “What did you have in mind?”

  He rubbed his craggy hands together in glee. “I want my throne back, dear Ruby.”

  I shivered, recalling Harcourt’s use of the phrase. “What’d you say?”

  “Ah yes.” Solon cracked a wide grin, his green, diseased eyes glowing like halogen lamps. “An old saying from the same person who put me out here in the woods.” His grin stayed put. “From my brother.”

  Goddamn did I hate the Fae.

  17

  Solon Leblanc agreed to help Argos procure the necessary ingredients to cure Kalos’s demon bloodlust—provided Roark and I made good on his request. They stayed behind, ostensibly for “treatment,” but really as collateral. A new map in tow, we were ushered to the corner of his woods, where a pair of ragged looking horses stood tied to the trees.

  The capital hovered in the greenish-gray distance—full of towering smokestacks and a looming castle. Its stone masonry looked blackened to a crisp from the pollution.

  From where I was standing, the city didn’t look that much preferable to the forest. But Solon had warned us that the dog and Kalos would both meet terrible fates if we didn’t deliver. And I’d dealt with Harcourt enough to know that psychotic tendencies probably ran in the whole family. Which is why I didn’t bank on Solon following through with his promise.

  Curing Kalos was no guarantee.

  I checked the watch. Forty-five minutes. Cutting it close, but I’d done the best I could, given the circumstances.

  “How’s it looking?” Roark asked, a slight hitch in his voice. This was the first time alone we’d gotten since last night’s events.