Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  “That’s something we can agree on.” He hadn’t taken the full leap yet. That still gave me an opening.

  I set Eden down at the top of the fourth floor. Carrying her would have been strenuous under normal circumstances, but as depleted as I was, it seemed to sap everything from me. Dragging my sensible shoes along the glowing hardwood, I helped her into Malcolm’s office.

  Inside, the décor was surprisingly restrained—minimalist, even. White drywall, with nothing hanging. A single solid oak desk.

  “Not quite what you expected?” Malcolm sat down in the lone chair and leaned back. “This is where I think.”

  “And here I thought for sure you never did that at all.”

  Malcolm removed a keyring from his suit jacket and unlocked the desk’s bottom drawer. His hand emerged with two sheets of paper and a pen.

  “As agreed,” Malcolm said.

  “I don’t understand. You still want to do the branding deal?”

  “This has nothing to do with this silly media game,” Malcolm said. “With or without the public’s support, I’ve already won. You cannot stop progress.”

  “If that’s what you call it.”

  “I call myself the wealthiest man in the world. In all the worlds.”

  “And yet, no one to share it with.”

  “That is up to you.” Malcolm pushed the contract forward. “Read the paperwork.”

  “Eden is a little indisposed, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Not for the girl.” Malcolm laid his elbows on the table, radiating supreme confidence. “The contract is for you.”

  I eased Eden into the corner, making sure she didn’t hit her head. Then I grabbed the contract.

  A Blood Oath. Might as well be how this day ended.

  I read the terms to the end and said, “Give me a knife.”

  “I’m sure you brought your own.” Malcolm drummed his tented fingers together, reading my body language. “No questions?”

  “I die, you promise that Roark and Eden get to live.” I didn’t have the energy to be resentful. This was the best deal we were going to get. “Seems simple enough.”

  Sometimes, the little guy gets crushed. The heroine falls from the bridge and drowns. There was no karmic guarantee that evil was reciprocated with justice.

  I couldn’t fight him any longer.

  I looked at my wrinkly hands, feeling every bit as old as my appearance.

  This was where my journey would end. Pearl had been wrong.

  “I must admit, I thought there would be more handwringing. Protests.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” I removed the knife from the inner pocket of the wool blazer. Malcolm gave a self-satisfied grin. Guess I couldn’t wipe away enough of Ruby to sell my disguise. Too bad. I would’ve liked to see him dead.

  I held the knife over my palm. A pink line from the Oath I’d formed with Odessa stared back at me. Eden stirred in the corner, which made me hesitate.

  “You can all die, instead,” Roark said.

  “You’d kill your own son?”

  “I lost Colton long ago.” The coldness of the words took me aback. “I will watch you die slowly, or I will watch you all die.”

  “You promised, Ruby,” Eden mumbled through her closed teeth.

  “I guess that makes me a liar.” I slid the knife across my palm, watching the blood ooze through the cut. With a resigned sigh, I handed the blade to Malcolm Roark.

  “Who would have thought you’d bend so easily?”

  “Some of us have souls.” Blood dripped from my hand, splashing against the table.

  Malcolm didn’t smile, but he was clearly enjoying the moment. Yes, in the end, I had lost our standoff. But it felt like I was salvaging some small part of goodness by saving Roark and Eden.

  Although the world they’d have to live in would probably suck.

  But where there was life, there was hope.

  Malcolm brought the edge to his skin. “You won’t have a shred of your soul left, once I’m finished.”

  My heart hammered.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I lost count of the pistol shots, but it sounded like an entire magazine being emptied. The knife bounced off the oak desk and clattered to the ground. Blood streaked the white walls as Malcolm sank to the floor of his office.

  Without time to react, I didn’t even react. My ears just hummed from the gunfire as I watched the blood stain Malcolm’s perfectly tailored suit.

  Roark entered the room and shook me.

  “We need to go.” He glanced at his father and fired another shot. The groans stopped. “Now.”

  Down on the floors below, I heard the confused media throng stir. An unsilenced barrage of gunfire from the CEO’s office would do that.

  I stood rooted to the ground, trying to process the situation. Roark cut in front of me and grabbed the contract from the table.

  He skimmed the Blood Oath and shook his head. “Goddamnit, Ruby. If you had just trusted me…”

  I leaned forward and kissed him deeply. It lasted only a second, but it seemed to stretch on for an eternity, until Eden let out an exasperated moan. “Really, guys? I’m right here.”

  “You taste like old lady,” Roark said, his blue eyes seeing me beneath all makeup and castings.

  “And how would you know what that tastes like?” I gave him a funny raised eyebrow. “There something I should know about you?”

  “It’s totally my thing.” For a moment, I thought he was serious. Then he winked.

  I glanced at Eden on the ground.

  “We’ll never make it across the desert,” I said, listening to the stomping footsteps below. The Ghosts were responding. They’d swarm the office, soon, and we’d be outgunned.

  “We’re not running back to Phoenix,” he said. “We’re heading to—”

  “The source,” I murmured to myself. “Where the journey ends.” With that, my mind kicked into overdrive. I reached down and grabbed the fallen knife. Roark handed me his extra service weapon, which I tucked into the waistband of the tight pantsuit.

  Kneeling next to Eden, I said, “Can you shift?”

  “I never want to do that again.”

  “Not even to bring down MagiTekk?”

  Eden finally opened her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I watched as the pretty woman before me shifted into a small coyote, the blue dress falling in a heap around her furry body. Eden shook off the fabric, emerging from the pile of clothing with a yip.

  “On my signal, you run like hell,” I said. “Distract the Ghosts. Roark and I will pick them off.”

  “You’re the leader,” Roark said.

  “I don’t think that was ever a question.” Hand at my waist, I went into the hallway, bringing my best frantic expression out from cold storage. The Ghosts were just reaching the top of the stairwell. I waved my free hand, the other firmly on the gun’s stock, pretending like I was trying to form words to describe the horrors I’d just witnessed.

  They lowered their weapons, the lead Ghost saying, “Ma’am, if you could just step—”

  I pulled the pistol and fired.

  That was the signal.

  35

  The four-legged blur tore across the hardwood. Eden the coyote distracted the surviving Ghosts just enough for me to hit another in the head. A third one had me dead to rights, until Roark burst from the office and sprayed the hallway down with automatic gunfire.

  Flecks of paint, plaster, and chunks of oil paintings flew in the air as he tore the Ghosts apart. One survivor dove to the floor, rolling through the storm.

  I drew a bead and got him in the throat.

  At the end of the hallway, toward the wide stairs, Eden yipped, indicating the coast was clear. If the media had been murmuring before, the throng was now in an outright panic. I stepped over the bodies, shedding the wig and the blazer as I went.

  I loosened the baggy blouse as I headed down the stairs, Roark trailing behind. On the third flo
or, which doubled as Malcolm Roark’s art wing, a small contingent of curious personnel had set up shop, complete with cameras.

  They backed away from us, trying to hide behind the Roman sculptures.

  “Always good to capture history,” I said. “Rather than be it.”

  Their hands as the feed broadcast live. I had no idea what the people of Phoenix—or the world—would think. But surely this had to be better than a CEO who thought the best way to help the bottom line was to destroy Santa Fe.

  He hadn’t done it alone. Those sitting on their hands, allowing life to pass them by, had enabled it to happen. But I couldn’t point fingers. Twenty years ago, I was still a mercenary, wandering from town to town. True, I’d helped Kalos stop Isabella Kronos from taking control of the world.

  But then I’d drifted on the wind, blown about like a spare tire. Once useful, I rusted away from disuse until the inevitable capture. So maybe I had Malcolm Roark to thank for who I’d become.

  Bending me, but never breaking me.

  I followed Eden down the next two flights of stairs and rushed into the backyard. Most of the media were huddle near the bridge, whispering to one another whether or not they should cross over into the Tributary.

  A single guard was holding them at bay.

  Eden yipped, getting everyone’s attention. The guard was distracted enough for me to hit him in the head from a hundred yards.

  Still had it.

  The crowd fell silent and parted to allow us through.

  “No one follows,” I said to the terrified people, not stopping. Not that they seemed to have a mind to do so. “The entrance might collapse.”

  Truth be told, I didn’t know what would happen.

  But I had one last goal: destroy the Tributary.

  Eden stopped near the on-ramp and sat down, panting heavily. I gave her a scratch on the ears, and she growled. Then she shifted back, eliciting a stunned gasp from the crowd. I had to wonder if that would be tomorrow’s front page headline, with the true lead buried somewhere next to the classifieds.

  It didn’t matter. The thankless jobs were almost always the most important.

  I glanced back at Roark.

  “You ready?”

  “Just following your lead.”

  We charged through the rift, diving into what remained of the brilliantly blue sea.

  36

  The swim to shore was refreshing, even with the waters being depleted by MagiTekk’s resource pillaging operation. The freshwater didn’t sting the cut in my hand. As I emerged onto the sand, staring at the gleaming city on the hill—now marred by MagiTekk’s towering aqueducts and tunneling equipment—I almost felt hopeful.

  The pockmarks and age spot slipped away from my skin like ink, the restorative water cleansing away the disguise—which, all things considered, had technically been a minor curse. I squeezed out my brown hair, and Roark came up behind me. He touched me lightly on the shoulder.

  “I must say, you look much better now.”

  “Keep it in your pants, buddy. We have a job to do.”

  “I might even show up to our next date.” Roark tagged along behind as I jogged into the lush forest.

  “Who said you’d get a second chance?”

  “I thought we all deserved one.”

  “We’ll see about that.” I watched the final age spot disappear from the back of my hand. The cut had even started to heal. Impressive stuff, this water. And we weren’t even close to the source. Recalling how our progress was stymied the last time by the fallen bridge, I charted a different course.

  This time, we’d take the opposite shoreline.

  Making good time through the ancient city of the dead gods, I followed the sun’s path through the winding sandstone streets. I felt good enough to run. A light sweat caked my brow.

  We entered a large plaza, like you’d fine in a European city with a rich history. A dormant fountain sat at the center, covered in moss.

  This was going to work out. Everything was going to be fine.

  Until Roark screamed, “Above us,” and I looked up just in time to see a snarling woman in a short skirt and a cowboy hat leap from a nearby rooftop. Odessa’s agility was impressive. I rolled over the rough cobbles, toward the central fountain.

  Heat surged off her in waves as she landed nearby. Her black magic tugged on my soul, feeling like a tight fist around my heart.

  “You can’t attack us,” I said, watching the demoness advance in the broiling sun. What I’d do for my shotgun right about now. “The Blood Oath.”

  “Not directly, no.” The magical noose tightened, like she’d lassoed my insides. The cowboy hat was slung low over her eyes, the brim reflecting her eyes’ amber glow. “But I am good at finding loopholes. Like using your souls to fuel my magic.”

  I watched Roark sneaking up on the demoness, pistol raised. About twenty yards away, however, she held up a hand, and he simply froze in place. I felt a tiny shard of my soul disappear.

  Briefly staring into the abyss of emptiness before rocketing back into the here-and-now, I let out a halting breath. Odessa smiled and clapped her hands. Technically, this wasn’t an attack. We were simply immobilized.

  “Well, you two can have a blast by yourself. Some Ghosts will probably be through here eventually. Or you’ll starve.” She shrugged, brown hair swaying the light breeze. “Either way, I’ll be free of you both.”

  The barking report of a gunshot echoed off the crumbling sandstone rooftops, bouncing around the plaza like a pinball. Odessa spun on her heel and flung a fireball in its general direction. I didn’t feel my soul flake off, and from Roark’s expression, he hadn’t either.

  Which meant there was someone else out there.

  Kalos’s salt-and-pepper hair popped out from a crenellation. The .45 boomed again across the mossy plaza, a bullet hitting Odessa with a solid thud. She stumbled like a drunk toward the fountain, the cowboy hat spinning off her head. The wound was enough to loosen the effects of the freezing spell.

  I rolled along the ground and pushed off the worn stone, seizing the opening. It’d be the only one we got. Demonesses weren’t exactly easy to kill. I reached for the knife at my waistband, my own blood barely dry upon its edge, and leapt, jamming it into Odessa’s skull. The amber light flickered out of her eyes and her powerful aura vanished, leaving a magical void.

  She buckled to the cobbles, facedown, her dark blood seeping through the cracks. Her short skirt billowed softly in the wind. I took the blade out and nudged her warily with my sensible shoe.

  No movement.

  “Thought you two could use some help,” Kalos called down from his vantage point. “Saw your little broadcast on television and figured we’d join the fun.”

  “Congratulations on not being a soulless husk.”

  “Prince Martin’s not a bad guy.” Kalos’s head disappeared from the crumbling window. Footsteps clamored through the ruins, until the half-demon finally emerged at the outskirts of the plaza. He walked a little slowly—it seemed we all were doing that, these days—but was otherwise no worse for wear. Definitely no Vanished.

  Argos darted down the stairs in another house, going too fast in his excitement. A dappled black-and-white furry dervish tumbled out behind Kalos. After pitching end-over-end for a few seconds, a patch of thick moss finally stopping the border collie’s momentum.

  He lay flopped on his side for a moment, then rose and shook himself off in that way that dogs do. Trotting delicately, he made his way over to Odessa and gingerly sniffed her corpse.

  “Dead,” he said with authority, like it was breaking news.

  “I think the brain trauma did her in,” I said.

  “You can never be too sure.” Argos puffed his chest out, his sharp snout set in a serious expression.

  “Words to live by.” I glanced over at Kalos, his shoulders hunched. Clearly still recovering from being bitten by the Vanished. Without supernatural blood in your veins, the healing process was even slower.
“I’m flattered you two showed up, really.” I bit my lip, then launched into the pertinent question. “But why’d you really come back?”

  “You know why.” Kalos let out a deep sigh, his .45 glinting in his hand. I looked at the gun warily. “Our mission hasn’t changed.”

  “We’re not creating any gods.” I put my hands on my hips. There were enough problems lurking in the shadows without our group pursuing different ends. This Realm was being reduced to an ash heap. That was final.

  “Let’s not argue, Ruby,” Kalos said. “There are still hundreds of soldiers in this city.”

  I shot Roark a begrudging look, who nodded quickly. Fine. We could debate what to do with the source later.

  Until then, we all had the same goal.

  Survive long enough to actually find it.

  37

  Turned out, the Realmpiece’s directions were dead on—provided you were on the right side of the bridge. Following the blazing sun led to a grotto inside the mountain. Pockets of essence glowed along the walls, reminding me of the Realm Rifts. Unlike the Rifts, however, these were naturally occurring formations.

  This place was rife with magical energy. It thrummed from every crevice. Water ran through the center, the pool clear and deep.

  I passed my hand through a golden light, feeling its warmth trickle through my aching fingers.

  “We’re getting close,” Kalos said. “You feel it, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Fauna and shrubbery dotted the interior of the grotto, growing on pure magical energy. Argos stopped and took a bite from one of the flowers, then flicked his ears back when he saw me watching.

  “It’s a bad habit,” he said lamely, still trying to chew on the sly.

  “You do you, buddy.” Behind me, Roark stifled a laugh, which made Argos look even more sheepish. But there was something to be said about accepting your nature. After all, you couldn’t be anyone else.

  What I originally thought was a grotto extended deep into the mountain. But the light inside didn’t dwindle. If anything, the glow got brighter, the lush plants growing thicker as we headed deeper within the mountain. Around us, the air tingled with infinite possibility.