The necromancers titter, the sound edged with nerves. They’re laughing at me for thinking my bargain would hold, but they’ve realized they’re stepping into the same pit.
Can I use that?
All Mason and I need to do is get back within the warding of the conference site. Run and abandon them to their fate. Sacrifice the lives of these four necromancers for ours.
There have been times when I’ve worried I’m too soft to be Alpha. Mom always said that if she and Jeremy have a weakness as leaders, it is their tendency to sift through every potential issue for each choice they make. They cannot help but worry about where they could go wrong, and they will never forget what—or who—they sacrifice through their choices.
They say that’s their greatest weakness. Dad says it’s their greatest strength. The Pack doesn’t want old-school Alphas, who acted swiftly and brutally. They want those who will choose with care and regret the implications of those choices. But an Alpha must still choose. I feared indecision would be my downfall. I’d see everything that could go wrong and be unable to make hard choices.
A hard choice was leaving innocent campers behind as we fled. This is different. There are no innocents in these four necromancers. They intended to unleash a demon on an entire camp of teenage supernaturals, and they can go straight to hell, borne there in the jaws of Marchocias and her hell beasts.
“I’d like to make a deal,” I say.
Marchocias’s laugh rings out again. I wait until she’s finished. Then I open my mouth, but she cuts me off with, “No, Romulus. You’ve cast your bargain and sealed your fate.” She turns to Byron. “Do the honors, please.”
“Marchocias!” Byron booms as he steps forward. “Honored lord of demons, your humble servants request a boon in return for that which we lay before you. Accept our sacrifices to you.”
I turn and run. Mason immediately realizes what I’m doing. He’s farther from Marchocias than I am, which should give him a head start. Yet the idiot vampire still has to lunge between me and the demon, and when I slow, he grabs my shoulder and propels me forward with, “Right behind you, pup.”
It’s the behind part I don’t like, but there’s no time to argue.
We run, and Byron shouts, and that’s when I remember the guns as a shot fires over my shoulder.
“Yes,” Marchocias sighs. “Please do murder my sacrifices before I can take them. That’s what every wolf wants—to scavenge prey. Put those down, you fools.”
There’s a pause. Then she barks, “Down, I said! Guns on the ground so you will not be tempted to kill my prey. Now come closer, children. Let us decide how best to capture our fleeing prey.”
That . . . makes no sense. Marchocias must realize that once we cross onto the warded conference center grounds, she can’t touch us.
She should be ordering the necromancers to shoot and bring us down. Or sending her hell hounds in pursuit. Or pursuing us herself.
I glance back to see the quartet closing in around her, uncertainly, as if they realize her request makes no sense but don’t dare refuse.
“You won’t get far, miscreants!” she shouts after us, and when I turn to look, she shakes her fist at us . . . only to turn it into a finger wave.
She’s letting us go.
Letting us run to safety.
Because she never had any intention of killing us in the first place.
She was amusing herself, a wolf toying with mice.
Except we weren’t the mice she was toying with.
“Shit.” I turn, right in front of Mason, so abruptly that he bashes into me. He smacks my shoulder.
“Go,” he says.
I meet his eyes, and his mouth tightens, but his gaze shunts away in a look I’m learning means that he wants to be the asshole here, the guy who says every man for himself, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
“Go,” he says. “I’ll handle this.”
“I’m the one who has a bargain with Marchocias. I’m the one she’ll listen—”
A snarl of rage as a golden wolf flies from the forest and launches itself at Marchocias.
“Call me crazy,” Mason says, “but I think we found your sister.”
“Everyone stop,” a voice booms. Then a shot fires, and all four necromancers turn to stare at a tiny young woman with strawberry blond hair . . . holding a handgun on the quartet. If that wasn’t enough to stop everyone, the giant black wolf at her side would be.
“Shit,” Mason mutters. “We’ve got two more.”
“Nope,” says Elijah as he races past. “It’s Chloe and Derek. Edison Group. They’re on our side. You might want to help your sister, Logan. I’m not sure whether it’s possible to kill a demon, but she’s sure as hell trying.”
True enough. The problem with occupying a mortal form is that your form is, well, mortal, with all the inherent weaknesses. I’m not even sure Marchocias is fighting, though. As Elijah and I race toward Marchocias, the demon seems to be letting Kate pin her facedown, Kate’s jaws around the back of her neck.
“Kate?” I call as I jog over.
The necromancers ignore us. They’re too busy panicking as Derek prowls toward them, Chloe and her gun following. Elijah is circling Kate and Marchocias like a fighter waiting to be called in for an assist.
“Kate!” I call again.
She finally hears me and looks over.
“Hey, sis,” I say with a smile and a wave. “Good to see you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kate
I’ve got the demon in the dirt. She is indeed in human form—female human form—and while the body she’s inhabiting looks strong enough to put up a fight, she isn’t even trying. I’m not arrogant enough to think that means she’s actually giving up. She’s a demon, and even in wolf form, I can’t do more than harm her human host. There’s a trick here, and as I pin her to the ground, my brain cycles through possibilities.
Is she waiting for her hell hounds to tear us all to kibble-sized bits? They’re nearby. When I’d charged through the forest, I saw undergrowth flatten beside me, heard the thump of paws. Even now, every few seconds, I catch a low growl. Yet the hounds do not attack, and the demon stays pinned.
I heard the idiot necromancers offering a sacrifice, and I know they weren’t talking about themselves. So where’s my brother? Where’s Mason? Marchocias did something to them—like stashing them in a dimensional portal—and now she’s biding her time, waiting for . . .
I have no idea what she’s waiting for, and I feel like a fool pinning her here while her amusement ripples through the air. Then she points. Just casually throws out an arm and points, and I twist, following her arm to see . . .
Logan.
My brother, jogging through the forest, Mason with him.
He lifts a hand in a wave. “Hey, sis. Good to see you.”
At my growl, the demon actually does chuckle.
“You . . . should probably get off of her,” Logan says.
“Oh no, don’t rush,” the demon purrs. “I’m quite comfortable here. My human host might not be so happy, waking to discover she’s been used as a wolf chew toy.”
I snarl.
“No need to huff and puff, little Remus. Let me rise and make your acquaintance properly as your dear granny in wolf’s clothing.”
Great. A demon who mixes her fairy tale metaphors. I back off her and walk to Logan, who drops to one knee and envelops me in a hug as he murmurs, “It really is good to see you.”
Chloe steps forward, holding my clothing. “I’m guessing you want this? Derek’s already Changing over there.”
I rumble a noise of assent, and Logan takes the clothing and leads me to a sheltered spot. We pass the four necromancers, who just stare after us, as if they haven’t quite figured out what’s happened with Marchosias.
When I emerge, dressed and in human form, Logan is talking to Chloe and Derek. He sees me then, and I get another hug.
“This is a truly lovely reunion,” Mar
chocias calls. “I’m so thrilled that you’re all back together, having overcome the obstacles that conspired to keep you apart. But perhaps we ought to deal with . . .” She waves at the quartet of necromancers. “They did attempt to sacrifice you to me.”
Mason steps forward. “I’d rather discuss the fact that you were going to accept their sacrifice.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I can scarcely believe you fell for that performance.” She lowers her voice and intones. “You’ve cast your bargain and sealed your fate. Mwuh-ha-ha.”
She skewers Logan with a hard look. “I’m insulted, really. If nothing else, the very ridiculousness of the whole thing should have told you I was simply having some fun with these fools. Sacrificing teenagers to me in return for a boon? I was waiting for them to insist you were all virgins, too. I’ve never understood that. As sacrifices go, why is a virgin more valuable?” She turns to address the air. “Do they taste different?”
A low growl from one of her hounds.
Marchocias nods. “She says no, they do not. Humans are utterly ridiculous. Now, Romulus, I believe we still have a bargain. I upheld my end. You and yours were not injured. You have uncovered the root of the problem here in those four fools. Contact your people, tell them what happened, and I will allow them to clean up the mess and then depart. The only thing I ask is that you let me feed these four to my hounds, who have been made very hungry by all these people racing about their forest.”
Logan opens his mouth, and the worry in his eyes tells me he’s taking her seriously. I know better. I see the look in her eyes, too, an unmistakable glint of amusement as the four necromancers quail, one guy bursting into tears, another dropping to his knees.
“Sweet, sweet chaos,” I murmur, and Marchocias tosses me the smallest smile.
“You know we can’t let you take them,” I say. “As much as they might deserve it. How about this? Give them ninety seconds to get inside the building. Once there, they’re safe, but if they leave again before the council arrests them . . .” I smile at the quartet. “They’re all yours.”
The necromancers are off and running before Marchocias even has time to agree.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Logan
Summoning help won’t be as easy as it seems. While Derek and Chloe’s cell phones work, there’s no signal. Byron says there’s a blocker. Not his doing—the leadership conference installed one to thwart teens who snuck in devices. Because, really, the best way to train future leaders is to treat them like children.
Byron has no idea where the blocker is located, and we don’t spend much time looking for that or the SIM cards. We’ll make sure everyone is okay and then get far enough away to find cell service.
Kate, Elijah and Chloe check on the unconscious campers while Derek, Mason and I interrogate the necromancers. I do all the talking. I’m the son of Clayton Danvers, after all. I’m so damned scary, the necromancers start confessing the moment I walk in the room.
Not exactly.
It’s true that my parents are famous—or infamous—for their interrogation skills. Mom does the talking. Dad does the part that makes them talk. Of course, Dad hasn’t taught us any of that. Mom’s passed on her techniques, and I use them, but what convinces these necromancers to talk is the big vampire and even bigger werewolf looming behind me.
While all four necromancers have their stories—variations on “it’s not my fault”—the one that counts is Byron’s. He’s the leader. It’s his story we want, and his we get.
When Byron was hired as a counselor, he came on site with the other employees and encountered a ghost who warned him that Marchocias haunted the woods. He did some research, learned about the urban legends and decided the ghost was telling the truth. At this point, anyone with a functioning moral compass would warn the organizers. Instead, Byron saw a golden-ticket opportunity.
Byron was already part of a quartet of young necromancers who’d decided their race has lost its edge. They want to be video-game necromancers, terrible and dark, using their powers to murder their enemies and then raise their corpses to serve them. With Byron’s new job, the group saw their chance. The other three applied as campers, and Byron made sure they were accepted. Once here, they set about trying to summon Marchocias, which they couldn’t do because of the warding.
I could laugh at their bumbling scheme, but they did intend to kill a camp full of supernatural teens, and three did die. I want these necromancers locked away in a Cabal prison until they’re too old to hurt anyone. My fear is that a good lawyer could argue that they aren’t directly responsible for the deaths. It’ll be hard to prove that the necromancers’ scheme caused the half-demons to lose their minds. Their relentless demon summoning could have sparked the half-demons’ latent chaos hunger, but a good attorney could argue that it was Marchocias herself, even inadvertently. Having a powerful demon and hell hounds so close could have ignited that latent hunger. If I were the prosecutor, I’d argue it was a combination of the two. Their demon summoning damaged the wards just enough that the half-demons were affected, and even if that wasn’t the necromancers’ intention, they’ve confessed to planning mass murder.
We haven’t quite finished when Kate and Chloe come in, followed by Elijah.
“Everyone’s still unconscious,” Kate says. “That means we have three tasks. One, someone needs to watch over the campers. Two, someone needs to walk until they can call Paige for help. Three, someone needs to find Holly and Allan.”
“They’re at the cabin,” I say, “but yes, I agree someone needs to get back to them.”
“The cabin’s empty,” Derek says.
“What?” I spin on him.
“We were there less than an hour ago looking for you,” Kate says. “We figured Holly and Allan were with you guys, and in everything that happened . . .” She shakes her head. “We just realized we haven’t seen them.”
Elijah nods. “Kate literally stopped midsentence and said, ‘Holy shit, has anyone seen Allan or Holly?’ She’s a little freaked out and doing an excellent job of hiding it, as always.”
“I’d like to get back there,” she says. “See if I can pick up their trail outside the cabin, and if not, then it’s back down the hatch, this time with a very long rope.”
“Logan?” Elijah says. “You can go with her. Mason and I will stay here while Derek and Chloe track down a cell signal.”
“Me?” Mason says. “Did you and Katie have another lover’s spat?”
“No,” Elijah says, his words clipped. “I would happily accompany Kate on this mission. However, she’ll want to be with her brother since they’ve already been separated once. Suggesting she go with him is called being considerate.”
“Derek and I should stay here,” Chloe says. “If these kids wake up, we don’t know what state they’ll be in, and I’m not going to risk them attacking you again. I’ll give you my phone. You call Paige. She knows you. We’ve never met.”
She holds out her cell. Kate hesitates, and then takes it and passes it to me.
“Chloe’s right,” she says. “It should be one of us. You take Mason and do that. Elijah?”
“Right beside you.”
I glance at him. Before I can open my mouth, he says, “If anyone goes down that hatch again, it’ll be me at the end of that rope. Kate will stay up.” He looks at her. “Okay?”
She nods, but I doubt she’s listening. Her attention is already on finding Holly and Allan.
“Walk with us to the cabin,” Elijah says to me. “Then you two can keep going until you find a cell signal.”
I agree, and the four of us head out.
I need to speak to Kate about Holly. I’m not sure how much of that Mason and Elijah should overhear, but I must respect Holly’s privacy where it doesn’t interfere with their safety.
“I need to speak to my sister about something,” I say. “In private.”
“Sure,” Elijah says. “Then let me take advantage of the opportunity t
o test my tracking skills. I’ll get up far enough ahead that I can’t accidentally eavesdrop.”
He strides forward, waving to Mason. “Come on. You can mock me every time I crouch to sniff the ground. It’ll be fun.”
“I’m fine,” Mason says.
“Did you hear Logan? He asked—”
“I’ll fall back.”
“Really?” Annoyance darkens Elijah’s eyes.
“I’m good.”
“No, you’re an antisocial asshole who doesn’t care if he’s being insulting.”
“Should have left him with Derek,” Kate says, offering Elijah a smile.
“Nah, Derek’s an introvert who doesn’t mean to be insulting . . . or an asshole. He talked to me just fine after I called him on it. This guy . . .” Another shake of his head, and he strides into the lead. “Whatever.”
I glance at Mason, but he’s only set his jaw. Elijah has a point. Derek seems more . . . I’d say shy, but that implies timidity, and there’s none of that. Introverted, like Elijah said. I struggle against that myself, so I can definitely relate.
With Mason, it’s a protective wall to keep himself from getting attached to anyone, knowing he’s destined to live a semi-immortal life where he will lose everyone he cares about. So maybe it’s better not getting close to anyone. That feels like an excuse, though, and Elijah’s right that it’s insulting. A few minutes of shared walking is hardly going to form the kind of lasting bond Mason fears.
I watch Mason fall behind, and I feel . . . I’m not sure what. Frustrated? Exasperated? Sympathetic? It’s the last that keeps me from writing him off. Maybe more, too. I keep catching glimpses behind the armor, and I’m intrigued by what I see. I’m just not sure it’s worth the effort.
That sounds cruel. Shouldn’t everyone be worth the effort of getting to know? No. If your neighbor is an asshole, then it’s not your responsibility to work past that. Mason is rude, perhaps to me more than anyone. Yet I’m the one he wants to stay with. I’m the one he leaps in to protect.
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