by Alicia Wolfe
I still had my utility belt, though. Batman, eat your heart out. I unzipped a pouch, pulled out some dust, and then mixed it with the crushed basilisk eye I retrieved from another.
“Garona,” I shouted, and hurled the dust at the spider. Instantly, it turned to stone.
I heard what sounded like Fae swearing, and then the spider broke into a hundred pieces. Davril jumped from the ruins, spitting out spider dust. Dusting himself off, he nodded his thanks to me.
“Well done,” he said. “You’ll have to teach me that sometime.”
“I wish I could. That was my only basilisk eye.”
“Your—”
Another shadow fell on him. Glancing up, I saw three more enormous spiders scuttling over the top of the mausoleum to our right. Were they pouring out of its top? I pictured them nesting in the sarcophagus of some long-dead sorcerer, growing fat and powerful off his or her magic, then boiling out of some crack in the mausoleum’s roof.
“Shit,” I said.
By the light of Davril’s shining sword, I could see their fangs glinting. They wanted to trap us, spin us in their webs, and suck us dry.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and pulled out my knife. It was better than nothing.
Davril glared up at them. Slowly, he took a step back. Above, they moved with him. Another many-legged shape joined them, then another.
“A whole swarm,” he said, disgust in his voice.
“Can you take them all?”
“Maybe,” he said, “but maybe not. And even if I could, I couldn’t do it without a great deal of destruction, which would be obvious to our enemies when they arrive. It would give our presence away.”
“Then let’s try to do this my way,” I said.
“I thought you were out of basilisk eye.”
“That was only for emergencies. My usual way is sneakiness, and I have several spells for that.”
“Very well.”
We continued backing slowly away down the alley while the spiders jockeyed for position above. As we moved, I mixed another spell, then spoke a magic word. When I did, the shadows around us thickened, and we became less visible to anyone outside the shadows. Taking Davril’s hand, I led him down one alley, then up a cross-alley, and down another. The spiders spread out overhead, looking for us, but they didn’t seem to be able to see us. Gradually, we saw them less and less, and then not at all.
Breathing heavily, I drew to a stop in a courtyard beneath a huge withered tree bowed with white fruit that looked suspiciously like skulls. Man, I couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
“That was too close,” I said. “I mean—”
Davril lunged past me, sword flashing. I spun, breathless, to see that the roots of the tree had lifted out of the ground and were questing toward me like tentacles. Davril struck one root with his sword, severing it, then lopped off another.
The whole tree listed toward us. Its fruits were skulls, and each one was snapping, trying to eat Davril up!
His sword flashed, again and again, and skull-bearing branches fell to the ground along with root tentacles, some still writhing. At last the tree quit its assault and listed back, its surviving roots plunging underground once more and its skulls becoming quiet fruits again.
“Jesus,” I said, wiping sweat out of my eyes. “Now I owe you.”
He grinned and made his sword disappear. “That’s the way I like it.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. Staring at him with his face flushed and eyes agleam, with that wicked smile on his face, I realized that he was a man of action, that he only really came alive when there was danger about, or at least that’s when he was most alive. And something in me drew toward him, inexorably.
Because I was the same way.
We stared at each other for a long moment, but then our heads snapped to the side as new sounds sprang from the darkness. The sounds of footsteps and conversation.
Davril and I pressed our backs against the nearest tomb wall and held our breaths. This was it. Our enemies had arrived. He looked sideways at me as if to say, Are you ready?
I nodded.
Carefully, we moved toward the sounds. My stealth-shadow spell still held, but I knew it would dissipate soon. When I whispered this to Davril, his eyes grew flinty and he nodded once, curtly. We crept down a narrow alley between death houses, making for the noise. As we approached, the sounds grew louder. Shouts and curses, then strange, eerie wailing.
“What the hell?” I whispered. I knew I wouldn’t be overheard what with all the other noises.
Davril didn’t answer, and we approached the mouth of the alley slowly. There, before us, in a small, creepy courtyard watched over by four monstrous gargoyles on the top of four tall stone columns was a truly strange and macabre scene, straight out of my nightmares. Or at least somebody’s nightmare’s. Stephen King’s, maybe.
A group of maybe a dozen people had formed a defensive circle in the courtyard. The group was mainly composed of rough-looking sorts with scars, tattoos and leather, men and women but mainly men, all of the type Marko had been, as well as the other one, the one who had attacked Maria. The criminal element, as I thought of them, were all brandishing guns and knives, and some were stabbing or shooting at the enemy that assailed them.
Ghosts ringed them. Howling, phantasmal, see-through ghosts—probably the same ones Davril and I had avoided earlier. This group had stumbled across them, or maybe stepping within the ring of gargoyles had summoned them, much like a similar set of gargoyles had served as an alarm back at Hawthorne’s penthouse. Whichever, the ghosts were tearing at the criminals with phantasmagorical claws and gnashing at them with half-substantial teeth. Wherever they struck, the criminals screamed and writhed, and I saw smoke trail up from some of the contacts. The ghosts, however ghostly, were able to inflict damage on the material world.
Well, duh, I thought. They wouldn’t be much use as guardians otherwise, right?
The group of criminals had some defense, though. Two women I instantly pegged as witches by their affected, Gothic-style dresses and haughty demeanors were speaking spells and hurling invisible missiles at the ghosts, driving them back and setting up magical force fields to defend themselves and the thugs.
One of the women was taller, with flowing chestnut hair and a beautiful, oval face. I put her in her early thirties. She seemed to be the leader, and her face was set in a determined scowl. In one hand, she held—I stared—the golden antler. She seemed to be using it as a magic wand. I glanced to Davril to see that his eyes had fixed on the antler of the Golden Hind, too. What could it mean?
The other witch was much younger, barely into her twenties, and she was sort of chubby, with a cute round face that she had painted white and had on black lipstick, too. A total goth poser. The spells she cast didn’t seem nearly as effective against the ghosts. Ultimately, that didn’t matter, though.
“Evecta cothrum,” shouted the tall witch as she stomped her foot on the ground hard. At the impact, the ground seemed to shake, and I could sense a magical ripple radiate out from the blow. That magic must have come from the antler.
The ghosts screamed and withdrew, stopping their assault but still circling in a nightmarish tornado, with the witches and their lackeys (at least, that’s how I saw it) being the eye of the storm.
Biting my lip, I glanced to Davril, but his attention was firmly rooted on the spectacle ahead. Part of me wanted to rush to the women’s defense. The other part of me realized they were my enemies. It had been their goons, transformed by magic, that had killed Jason and assaulted both Maria and Queen Calista. If the ghosts killed them, they’d only be doing me and the Fae a favor. Just the same, it didn’t feel right just watching it happen.
The ghosts started to close in again, but the tall, auburn-haired witch stomped her foot once more, even harder this time, and thundered, “Evecta THRUM!”
A wave of power radiated out from the golden antler in her hand. The ghosts shrieked and scattered into th
e cemetery, vanishing from sight. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, but as soon as they left, I sucked in a deep lung-full. A bit of sweat had popped out on Davril’s brow.
“That was close,” said one of the thugs in the courtyard, and his mates nodded and muttered agreements. Some shoved their weapons away, while others scouted out the nearby buildings, making sure the ghosts were really gone. Two of the thugs had fallen, stricken by the phantasms, and a small group of the others gathered over them. I tried to get a look at the two men on the ground, but it was too dark and the mist was starting to rise again. All the activity had dispersed it for a few moments, but it was rolling back in.
“Look, they’re still alive,” said the young goth witch as the two magic-users drew closer to the spot where the downed men were.
“Heal them, Mistress Angela,” one of the female thugs said to the tall witch, and others took up the cry.
“Heal them!”
“Heal them, please.”
The tall witch—Angela—paused over the bodies, then swept the antler over them. I knew she must be scanning them with her powers, augmented by the power of the antler. At last she sniffed and said, “I could heal them, but it would deplete my stores of magic, and I cannot be without them in the middle of Voris Cemetery. Stand back.”
“But Mistress—”
“Stand back!”
The thugs drew back warily, shooting each other dark looks.
Moving the antler back and forth, Angela began speaking a spell under her breath. Below her, the two wounded men began to scream.
The chubby goth girl opened her mouth to protest, then seemed to think better of it. She closed it and looked away.
“Please, Ms. Blackfeather, tell her to spare them,” one of the thugs pleaded with her. “She’ll listen to you.”
Blackfeather, if that was her name (but of course it was—look at that makeup), frowned at the man. With more venom than strictly necessary, she said, “Don’t tell me what to do, loser. Mistress Angela will make their ends quick.”
There came a sudden scream, and the downed men burst into green flames. The flames blazed brightly for a moment, then went out in a flurry of green sparks and ash. There was nothing left of them.
A few last cinders swirled around Angela, who stood tall and serene amid it all, her eyes slitted cat-like and a small, repugnant smile on her face. “They knew the risks,” she said, then shoved the antler away. “Now to the mission at hand. We are very close to our goal.”
She turned and strode off briskly down a broad aisle of the cemetery. Blackfeather scurried immediately behind her. The thugs glanced at each other, then at the dark, dangerous cemetery in all directions and, as one, ran after the two witches. I didn’t blame them.
“Well, shall we?” whispered Davril with an ironic smile, waving his hand as if to say, Ladies first.
This really does get his blood going, I thought. But I was numbed. Well, chilled really. I had just seen two men die, and they might not be the last before the night was over. Grimly, I moved to Davril’s side while the witches’ party continued through the cemetery.
Darkness pressed around us, thick and cloying, hiding unseen dangers, and I could barely see through the fog. Luckily, I could see just enough to prevent barking my shins on some obstacle, and our quarry made enough noise that we could still track them. I couldn’t believe I was really here, in Voris Cemetery, in pursuit of witches and who-knew-what-else.
This is madness. We must be mental.
I couldn’t deny that the only thing that made it bearable was Davril’s presence. If he hadn’t been there I wasn’t sure what I’d have done—probably run screaming back over that wall. Hell, I wouldn’t have gone over the wall in the first place. Then again, I wouldn’t have had to, either. I wouldn’t have even been able to find the damned cemetery. Thanks, Davril.
Careful to keep my voice low, I asked him, “How are they even here, anyway? It’s not nightfall yet in the outside world…is it?”
“Time does strange things in places like this,” he said. “Many hours could have passed in the outside world.”
“You tell me this now.” When he didn’t reply, I said, “What are they after, anyway?”
“I haven’t a clue. But they’re using the antler of the Golden Hind to help them navigate the dangers of this place. We must stay close enough to them to derive its benefits or all is lost.”
“That’s what they wanted the antler for?”
“Apparently. It was just a tool to help them achieve their real ends.”
“So what did your people want it for?”
“We knew it was a powerful thing and could easily be misused. We simply wanted to keep it out of the wrong hands.”
Then what the hell does Skull-Face want with it? This mystery just got deeper and deeper.
“Okay,” I said, “So last night, at Hawthorne’s penthouse…”
“We’d sent one of our number to collect the antler from Hawthorne after having discovered he possessed it. We’d already made payment and the Fae was simply on his way to pick it up.”
That was why a Fae Lord had been coming to the party, I realized, remembering Lydia’s excitement.
“So why were you there?” I asked. “On the rooftop?”
“As I’ve told you, I was simply monitoring the transaction…in case of mischief. We knew there were other interested parties inquiring about the antler and suspected…”
“Yeah?”
“Quiet. I think they’re slowing down ahead.”
Indeed, the witches’ group was reaching a stop before what looked like a grand mausoleum complete with ornate stone walls, gargoyles perched on the corners, and a heavy metal door inset with a bas-relief of flames. That was it, just huge, roaring flames. The Inferno, I thought. The dead sorcerer beyond had put a picture of the place he was going on the door of his tomb. Funny fella.
Mistress Angela issued orders, and several of her thugs made a circuit of the mausoleum, then reported back to her. Others fanned out, setting up a perimeter, while more began sentry patrols. Meanwhile, Angela waved the golden antler before the metal door while she and Blackfeather muttered strange words. I knew a little magic, just enough to get by, but their words were completely foreign to me. Angela’s magic was on a whole different level than anything I was familiar with, and I suspected that anything Ruby was familiar with, either.
“What now?” I whispered as Davril and I crouched in an alley between two huge, vine-overgrown tombs. The vines moved like bloated, sluggish snakes, and I was eager to be away from them.
Davril frowned. “They’re trying to get access to that mausoleum.”
“Thanks for the heads up, genius.”
“Which means that whatever they want, it’s in there.”
“Again, thanks for the newsflash.”
His eyes roved up and down the mausoleum in question. Even then, Angela and Blackfeather were increasing the volume and pace of their chanting. It wouldn’t be long before they were able to break through whatever magical wards guarded the dead dude’s resting place. He may have been formidable, but they had come prepared to deal with exactly this. That was what they’d needed the antler for, after all.
Davril’s eyes stopped moving when they reached the roof. “Is that a skylight?”
I squinted. My shifter senses helped see into shadows, and I could just make out what Davril was indicating. Due to the slope of the mausoleum’s roof, I saw a sheet of what might be stained glass set into the roof.
“I guess the dead guy wanted a view of the stars during his eternal rest,” I said. “So what?”
“So that’s how we can spy on them. We can see what Angela and Blackfeather want with the late mage. Then we can plan a defense accordingly.”
It wasn’t a bad plan, and I nodded. “Let’s rock.”
“You’re the thief,” he said. “How are we going to get on that roof?”
There were too many thugs on patrol for us to cut th
rough them, no matter how dark and foggy it was. I studied the scene, then indicated a rope of vine trailing from one gargoyle-festooned corner of the roof to the edge of another mausoleum’s roof.
“If we can get up to that structure, we can shimmy along that vine to the mausoleum,” I whispered. I had to speak especially softly because one of the patrols was nearing our hiding spot. My cloaking spell had dissipated, and we were at risk for being seen if we were careless. I wasn’t worried, though. The shadows were deep, and Davril and I were both good at blending in with them. This wasn’t his first rodeo.
“Then let’s do it,” he said.
We waited for the patrol to pass, then doubled back down the alley, up a cross-alley, and approached the structure I had indicated from a roundabout route. It was a tall mausoleum, half-buried in mist, covered in gargoyles and bas-reliefs and overgrown with weird ivy that moved, just slightly, and emitted a sort of buzzing noise. Perfect for climbing, in other words.
Davril and I waited for another patrol to pass by, then dashed to the building and scaled up its side. One of the vines moved as I went to grab it and I nearly lost my hold, but I quickly grabbed another, then stuck my tongue out at the offending plant. In moments, Davril and I had reached the roof. I led the way over to the rope of vines—and some roots, too, since a couple of spindly trees sprouted from the top of both mausoleums—then tested the rope to make sure it would hold.
“It’s solid,” I whispered.
I shimmied out onto the leafy bridge, feeling it creak under me, then stiffened as four of Angela’s thugs passed below. I held my breath until they were gone, then continued. Reaching the far side, I scrambled onto the roof of the mausoleum that held whatever Angela’s party had come for, then turned to gesture Davril forward. He was already moving. He crawled out onto the rope-and-root bridge with more dexterity and poise than I would have thought for a man of his size, but then again, he was a Fae, and they were graceful and nimble, every last one, or at least it always seemed so on television whenever they were featured, which was often.