“Do the returned soldiers associate with one another?” I asked. “Meet up anywhere?”
“Aye. A few come in here sometimes.” The final bowl he set on the table was mine, steam from the fish stew rising past my face. “They’ll order drinks and food, but ’sides that, they don’t talk. Jus’ sit there watching. Usually gather right here, in fact.” He nodded at our table.
Vampire spawn? I wondered now. Demon possessed?
“Have you noticed an increase in murders or disappearances in the city?” I asked.
The boy straightened from his stoop and reclaimed his platter. “Lots of Patriots left when the British Army came, but murders? No more than usual, I reckon. Fewer people about after dark, though, I can tell ye that. A month ago, we’d’ve been wall to wall, so loud ye couldn’t hear yourself think. Now?” He indicated the sparse crowd. “All these returned soldiers wandering about have gotten folks spooked. It’s … it’s not right.”
I nodded gravely. Something was happening, and I was betting it was connected to Demon X’s involvement with the time catch.
“Can we meet your father?” I asked.
“Meet him?” The boy’s Adam’s apple jumped sharply when he swallowed. “What fer?”
“I might be able to help.”
The tension in his face let out. “The doctor’s already been ’round to see him. Said nothin’ can be done.”
Jordan had gone quiet after learning the boy hadn’t seen anyone resembling the others from his circle. Now he held out a coin. “Thanks for your time.” With a nod, the boy pocketed the coin and left with the platter.
“That could have been a lead,” I said.
“To what?” Jordan asked, taking a bite of stew.
“To how Demon X is using the time catch, which could lead us to the Strangers.”
Jordan muttered, “If there’s two dozen steps involved, it must be a Croft plan.”
“That’s a lot better than going off half-baked,” I countered.
“Let’s just finish our meals and leave before it’s full dark,” Malachi said. “Sounds like we have more to worry about than British soldiers. When we get to our lodgings, we’ll hold a team meeting.”
We ate quickly, Gorgantha finishing her stew in two bowl-tilts to the mouth. She was crunching on a fishtail when her protuberant eyes froze over the bowl’s rim. I followed their aim. I hadn’t heard them enter in the din of surrounding conversation. Neither had my teammates, judging by their reactions.
Three disheveled men stood halfway between the door and our table. The hollowness of their staring eyes marked them as the former soldiers the cook had described. The tavern fell silent. I looked over at the bar. The tavern keeper was watching the men cross-armed while the cook peered out from the kitchen. When I made eye contact with him, he gave a furtive nod—that’s them—and retreated back behind a curtain of steam.
The former soldiers resumed their walk toward us. One had what looked like an old flintlock revolver in a holster at his belt while the other two bore sheathed knives.
“How ’bout this table here,” the tavern keeper called. She had come around the bar and was pulling the chairs from another table. “I’ll have yer drinks poured by the time ye get settled.”
The man with the revolver, burly with a floppy felt hat and thick ginger beard, looked over at her then back at us. The other two men, one with ratty brown hair and the other with a gaunt face pocked with scars, never stopped eyeing our table.
“Oy, over here,” the tavern keeper said sharply.
After another moment, they complied. As she returned to the casks, the three men lowered themselves but continued to watch us. Whether it was because we were sitting at their table or they saw something in us, I didn’t know.
“Is anyone else feeling weirded out?” Seay asked.
“As in creep detector off the charts?” Gorgantha asked, setting her bowl back down. “Hell to the yes.”
Malachi was already standing. “Uh, maybe we should—”
“Hold on,” I said.
I opened my wizard’s senses and watched the tavern become a mosaic of astral patterns. In the time catch, a thin, honey-colored energy layered everything—a consequence, maybe, of having been pinched off from the time continuum. I focused on the three men. Dead space, like I’d observed around the mercreatures. Something had stolen their souls, or rather the time catch equivalent.
Though I remembered Osgood’s warning, I pushed a little more energy into my vision. I was looking for an indication of what had stolen their souls. But while the patterns in the tavern grew more vibrant, the men remained dark voids. Only now glowing points were taking hold in the big one’s staring eyes.
Shit.
I shut down my wizard’s senses and blinked to speed the tavern’s return to focus. The man’s eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but I knew what I’d seen. Standing, I turned toward my teammates.
“Let’s go, but keep your faces averted,” I said. “Don’t let them get a good look at you.”
As we moved toward the door, I could feel the soulless men tracking us. I kept my head turned, listening for the cock of a hammer or the scrape of chair legs over the wood floor. When we made it outside, I closed the door. Beyond the foggy glass, I could see the men’s figures. They hadn’t moved. I led the way west on Wall Street at a fast walk.
“No more stops,” I said.
Seay took my arm again. “What did you see?”
“They’re possessed. Something siphoned out their souls and are using them as watchmen. We must have been interesting enough to send up a signal, because I caught someone or something coming in for a closer look.”
“Demon?” Malachi asked.
“Or a powerful mage,” I said. “But yeah, probably demon.”
I peeked back, relieved to see no one emerging from the tavern. Instead of continuing straight to Nassau Street as originally planned, I turned right on William Street and then took a quick left onto King. Except for the occasional rattle of a horse-drawn carriage in the distance, the streets were quiet.
Just let us get to an inn without drawing any more attention.
The intersection with Nassau street was just ahead, but I stopped suddenly. Several figures had stepped into the street, blocking our way.
“Got a gang back of us too,” Gorgantha said. “And they’re packin’ heat.”
I peered back.
Crap.
25
“Keep walking,” I said in a lowered voice. “Are they following?”
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “Four of them.”
“All right, you and Gorgantha slow down. Let them get within arm’s length.” With Osgood’s warning about magic ringing in my head, I wanted to take their firearms out of the equation, force them to use their blades. “Malachi, come up here between Seay and me. We’re going to try to file past the ones ahead.”
“And if they attack?” Jordan asked.
“Then we fight back—but without magic.”
“With all due respect, Prof,” he said. “I think the jig is up.”
“I’m not so sure. I think whoever’s controlling the men wants a closer look at us.”
I heard Gorgantha popping her thick knuckles. “Not a problem for me.”
“Jordan?” I said.
“Yeah. I can handle them with my quarterstaff.”
As his and Gorgantha’s footfalls slowed and fell back, I peeked over a shoulder. The soulless men behind them continued forward, closing the distance. None had aimed their guns yet. Neither had the three men ahead, though the long-barreled muskets they braced across their chests were presumably loaded and ready to fire.
When we’d closed to within ten feet, I nodded at the men and made a move to sidle past them. They shifted over, blocking our path again. Like the men in the tavern, they wore tattered homespun coats and stained trousers. Their felt hats featured large brims that hid their faces from the glow of a nearby oil lamp.
“May I help you?
” I asked, trying to sound pleasant.
“Where ye going?” the closest man asked in a hollow voice.
“We’re returning from dinner.”
“Where ye staying?” the one behind him asked.
“Oh, Uptown,” I said.
When the men looked at one another, it dawned on me that there was no such thing as “uptown” in 1776 New York. It would all be farmland, country estates, and woods. There was probably a name for that part of the island, but it sure as hell wasn’t “uptown.”
“Yes, the, ah, Upton Inn,” I amended. “Lovely place. I highly recommend it.”
The faceless gang stared at me until I thought I could feel the glowing eyes I’d glimpsed in the tavern, only now peering from the sockets of the man in front of me. I tightened my magic, needing to convince the possessing force that we were mundane. Jordan and Gorgantha arrived behind us, the four men close at their backs.
“Well, if that’s all,” I said, “we bid you men a fond good night.”
When I put a hand on the closest man to guide him aside, he batted it off with his rifle.
“Show us the Upton Inn,” he said.
“Oh, screw this,” Seay muttered.
Something flashed in my peripheral vision, and in the next moment the man was gagging on a dagger. Seay ripped the weapon from his throat, releasing a spray of blood. The weapon, which I hadn’t even known she was carrying, gleamed in a way suggesting it had been forged in Faerie. Seay glanced over and gave me a semi-apologetic look before driving her blade into the next man’s chest.
I got my sword up in time to catch a knife slash from the third man in front of us. On instinct, ley energy coursed through my mental prism. But though I could have really used a shield at that moment, I stopped short of speaking one into being.
“Whoa!” I cried, jumping back as the man slashed at me twice more.
On his third wild swing, his hat fell away, revealing disheveled gray hair and a snarling mouth of mossy teeth. I blocked his next slash with my staff and brought my blade down on his neck. The metal crunched through muscle and bone, sending the man into a sideways jig. His blade thudded to the road as his unmoored head bobbled around a blood-slick neck. Lunging forward, I finished the job with a final chopping blow.
Behind me, Jordan’s quarterstaff was in action, sweeping legs and pounding heads, while Gorgantha dealt damage with her fists. I caught her pummeling one of the soulless men with a right hand that sent him into the side of a building.
I looked around to make sure Malachi was safely out of harm’s way and found him backed into a doorway down the block. One of the men was advancing on him, tossing a blade between his hands.
“Hey!” I called, trying to draw his attention to me. But as I ran toward them, the soldier continued his advance. Malachi dug at the neck of his priestly robes for his cross pendant. When he couldn’t find it, he switched to his pockets. The man caught the blade in his left hand and drew it back to strike. Malachi’s hand emerged with his Latin Bible, and he thrust it out. The man hesitated, and I decapitated him from behind.
By the time I turned, the rest of the men were down.
“Everyone all right?” I asked.
“Peachy,” Seay said, returning her blade to a thigh sheath.
“Didn’t realize you were carrying,” I said.
“Have to toughen up my hands somehow,” she replied with a wry smile.
Jordan and Gorgantha grunted that they were fine, the mermaid rubbing her right fist.
I looked around the scattered bodies, considering how we’d just committed the most unpatriotic act ever. Soldiers of the frigging American Revolution. I had to remind myself that someone had already claimed their essence, turning them into soulless vessels. Meat bags, essentially. That alone marked the possessing force as malevolent.
Malachi shuffled up beside me. “I think he caught me earlier,” he said, almost apologetically. When he held up an arm, I could see the slashed fabric, blood dripping from one of the tattered flaps.
“How bad?” I asked, gripping Malachi’s shoulder to steady him.
Whether from fear or trauma, color was already leaching from his face. “I … I don’t know.”
“Here,” Jordan said, coming up and moving Malachi’s hand over the wound. “Clamp down as hard as you can. That’ll slow the blood loss. Once we get to the inn, I’ll take a look. I brought my kit.”
“We’re not going to an inn,” I said.
Jordan’s brow creased. “That’s all you’ve been talking about since we got here.”
“Change of plans. The destination now is St. Martin’s.”
“St. Martin’s?” Jordan repeated. “Isn’t that going to mean interacting?”
“Yeah, well, we no longer have the luxury of discretion. We need better protection than an inn can afford.”
I wanted to be pissed at Jordan for our tavern stop, but with so many soulless men out and about, they would have spotted us eventually. At least our stop had provided us a little advanced warning, courtesy of the young cook. Jordan appeared ready to say more when a musket cracked, and a ball whistled past.
“Let’s go,” I called, waving the team left onto Nassau. “The church is that way.”
The musket cracked again, but it was coming from the other end of King Street and early firearms were notoriously inaccurate. At that thought, my hat flipped from my head. Son of a bitch just shot it off.
Before he could reload, I scooped up the tricorn and raced until I’d caught up to the others. As we passed what must have been the original City Hall building, I called, “Right!”
Ahead, the way was clear to St. Martin’s, whose first incarnation had been more church than cathedral. Only it wasn’t there. I passed my teammates and stuttered to a stop at the edge of Broadway’s wide expanse. Elegant homes and businesses lined our side of the dirt road, but opposite stood the husks of burned buildings—where anything stood at all. The destruction extended for blocks.
“The Great Fire of New York,” Malachi said.
I could have smacked myself in the forehead. “Of course,” I muttered.
“What’s going on?” Seay asked, taking in the damage with a cocked eyebrow.
“There was a huge fire in September 1776,” I said. “No one knows what started it, but the fire burned everything west of Broadway.”
While I spoke, I stared at what must have been the churchyard. A large pile of charred debris stood at one end, as if efforts were being made to clear it. A massive fount of ley energy gushed up from the ground. The second incarnation of St. Martin’s wouldn’t be built until well after the war. Lacking a channeling structure, the ley energy was dispersing in all directions, much of it into the night sky.
“Where did the parishioners go during this period?” I asked Malachi.
He blinked as if struggling to think, and I wondered how much had to do with blood loss. I looked down at the hand clamping his forearm, but couldn’t tell whether the blood I was seeing was fresh or from earlier.
“Saint Mark’s Chapel,” he said at last. “It’s a few blocks up Broadway.”
“We’ll head there, then,” I said. “But we need to stay off the road.”
I checked both ways before leading our team across Broadway, away from the street lamps and into the charred landscape. When we were fully cloaked in darkness, I peered back. No one had emerged onto the main thoroughfare yet. Off toward the Hudson River, I could see large groupings of tents that must have been serving as barracks for British soldiers. Thankfully, none were patrolling this way. We moved through the ruins as fast as we reasonably could, Jordan assisting Malachi.
After a couple blocks, I spotted a tall spire. Soon, the rest of the chapel took form beyond a line of trees. The handsome little chapel appeared to be the only structure in the fire zone that hadn’t been incinerated.
We entered the manicured grounds through a side gate and accessed a columned portico in front. Gorgantha pounded the wooden door with
a fist, the sound shuddering throughout the sanctuary. We waited anxiously, all of us glancing back at Broadway. A moment later the door opened. An elderly face illuminated in candlelight peered out. Hard, dark eyes stared out over a hooked nose and pinched lips.
“Are you the rector here?” Malachi asked.
The man regarded us with naked suspicion. “Aye.”
“We’ve come for sanctuary,” I said. “Brother Malachi here has been attacked.”
Jordan held up Malachi’s arm. The rector’s gaze narrowed in on the bloodied tatters and then made another pass over the rest of us. He’d never emerged fully from the doorway, and I could just make out a black robe with a white cravat at his throat. Protective currents coursed around his head. The chapel was sitting on a fount too, though not one as powerful as St. Martin’s. Even so, I would never get inside without an invitation, and the same was probably true of Seay and Jordan.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Travelers from elsewhere,” I answered, peering over a shoulder. Still no one on Broadway, but for how much longer?
“Please,” Malachi said.
The rector, who had trained his eyes on the street as well, snapped them back to Malachi. “Can you recite the catechism on God the Father?”
Malachi did so quickly, his voice weak and quavering.
Far down Broadway, men began to appear from side streets. The damned wandering soldiers. They hadn’t spotted us, but that wouldn’t last. When Malachi finished the final question and answer, the rector shifted his pinched lips around as if in deliberation.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, I thought.
At last, he gave the barest nod.
“You may enter.” Then after another moment: “All of you.”
We wasted no time filing inside after Malachi, the protective energy of the threshold crashing through me like falling water, negating most of my magic. Though my incubus had weakened our bond as part of a recent agreement, I could feel his remaining hooks digging deeper into my soul.
Druid Bond Page 17