“You deal in lives that are not your own,” he rumbled. “That makes you the worst kind of thieves.”
There was a long silence, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire. The Reavers stood, still as statues, and Emily had the distinct impression that the one who had spoken—the leader?—was having some sort of internal debate, though she could not have said why. There was the pop of a knot in the fire, and a flame leapt briefly higher before, falling back again. In its light she thought she saw something glimmer where the leader’s eyes would be.
“What do you claim we have taken, human,” it said, addressing Maddy. “What was so precious to you that you risked trespass?”
Emily stepped forward, forestalling whatever caustic reply was forming on Maddy’s lips and drawing the Reavers’ gazes to her. She could feel this situation teetering on the brink of disaster; it needed to be handled differently. She didn’t know if she was particularly suited to do so, but Maddy’s frankness or Corbb’s impulsiveness were not what they needed just now. Galak lacked cunning, and Celine was too frail. For better or worse, it was up to her.
“We’ll barter,” she said, hoping the lie didn’t show on her face. In truth, they carried nothing among them worth bartering with. If she could keep them talking, though, maybe they could learn where Daniel was.
“Really?” The leader’s eyes moved over her, lingering where her hand still rested on the hilt of the sword.
“We’re looking for a small boy,” Emily said. “A boy with horns—”
“A Satyrian,” Celine offered from where she still sat on the ground to Emily’s right. Rascal hissed, but she shushed him. “They’re called Satyrians, Em.”
“Yeah,” Emily said quickly. “He’s a Satyrian. About ten years old.”
“And what makes you think we have this boy with us?”
Emily hesitated. She didn’t want to tell this person—this thing—about her vision, or the knowing for that matter. But it didn’t matter.
“Because we fuckin’ saw you take him,” Maddy spat, and suddenly there were a pair of daggers in her hands, though Emily hadn’t seen where she’d produced them from.
Again, the second Reaver moved forward, and again, his companion stopped him.
“I don’t know why you’re bargaining with them,” Maddy said. Emily supposed Maddy was talking to her, but the other girl’s eyes never left the two figures before them. “They’re fuckin’ Reavers.”
“If we did have this boy,” the leader buzzed, ignoring Maddy, “what would you offer for him?”
Emily’s mind was already racing before the question was asked; she’d known it was coming, and she’d hoped she could have thought of something. But they had so little with them. Even most of their weapons had been lost in the fire back in the abandoned town.
The knowing nudged her, just a tap, and while she didn’t like what it told her, she heeded its call—a life for a life.
She took a step toward the Reavers.
“Me.”
She heard Celine’s quiet gasp; she felt Corbb’s eyes on her; she sensed Maddy’s stunned surprise.
“You?” the leader said, and Emily imagined she heard sarcasm amidst the clicking, rasping buzz of its inhuman voice.
There was a long pause.
“Counteroffer,” the leader said at last, and as it raised a hand with another one of those strange insectile movements, the knowing crashed over her with the force of a tsunami. She saw its arm twitch in slow-motion, bending beneath its wrappings as if it possessed more than one joint in that limb. A cold certainty, far more solid than mere déja vu, filled her mind with a warning: trap.
She spun, drawing her sword in one fluid movement. Firelight reflected off the crystalline blade, making it seem for a moment that she was holding a fistful of flame.
Dozens of figures in cloth wrappings were emerging from the shadows, all moving with inhuman speed and precision, and filling the air with their inhuman voices. One fell on Celine, and Emily leapt forward, swinging her sword in a wide arc and driving it back.
But there were too many of them. Far, far too many.
She sensed the next attack—or was that the knowing guiding her?—and she turned to see another Reaver scurrying toward them. She hit it a glancing blow across its face with the flat of the sword’s blade, and the creature let out a series of rapid clicks and scuttled away from them, skirting the fire on all fours like some ancient Pharaoh’s mummified pet.
All around her was pandemonium, and everything was moving too fast—even with the preternatural awareness afforded by the knowing. Most of the swarm had descended on Galak, judging him to be the greatest threat, she supposed, but there were plenty of others surrounding them with inhuman speed.
The knowing flashed a warning, but she wasn’t fast enough to react. Her feet were swept out from under her, and she fell backward onto the hard ground. A Reaver loomed over her, a strange clicking sound emanating from its throat. She curled into a ball and rolled away in one motion. Her sword swung up in a vicious arc, forcing the Reaver to stumble back.
So fast, she thought with dismay. Even with the knowing slowing everything down, the Reavers moved with a speed that she could hardly keep up with.
She caught a fleeting glimpse of a Reaver wrestling Maddy to the ground, the handles of both her daggers protruding from its chest and apparently unnoticed. Others were still trying to subdue Galak with some kind of sparkling cables or chains.
Someone grabbed her arm.
The knowing guided her feet in a kind of dance as she spun around to face her assailant. Through the tiny gap in the wrappings around its face, she caught a glint of crimson.
She struck out with her sword, catching the Reaver in the underarm and slicing neatly through the wrappings and the flesh beneath as if it was little more than kindling. She heard something snap—the bones, she supposed—and she braced herself for the shower of blood she knew was coming.
The Reaver’s arm fell to the ground, still twitching and reaching for her, but there was no scarlet geyser—no gore at all that she could see.
As the Reaver retreated a few steps, its disembodied arm snapped to and fro, reaching for her feet with a life of its own. Again, she danced away, and her armless attacker melted away into the dark.
She put her back to the fire, moving as close as she dared to the flames. She could feel their heat against the backs of her legs, nearly searing her skin. She couldn’t risk another attack from behind—not with so many of them.
She scanned the dark. Where was Corbb? Celine? She couldn’t see either of them now amidst the shadows and the swarm of Reavers.
“Never mind the others!” one of those buzzing voices was screeching behind her from the other side of the fire. She thought perhaps it was the leader, but they all sounded the same. “Get the girl!”
There was a sudden stillness as the Reavers turned toward her—all of them. In a gap through their ranks, she saw Celine, her face bloody, lying between Corbbmacc and Maddy. All three of them were bound together with those translucent cables that seemed to refract the firelight much as the crystal in her hand did.
And then they were falling on her—dozens of them—and not even the knowing could keep them all at bay.
She tried, swinging wildly with the crystal sword and forcing a few to retreat, but it was pointless. She was only able to stave off the inevitable for a few seconds.
Countless hands were on her, wrenching her arms and finally pulling the sword from her grasp. As they took it from her, the knowing winked out, and she was spun around and slammed hard onto the ground.
All the air seemed to rush out of her in a sudden explosive exhalation, and she couldn’t take another breath.
“Don’t damage her,” the leader was buzzing, drawing closer until it was standing over her. At least, she thought it was the leader. Not only did they all sound the same, they all looked the same—all wrapped in those strips of endless fabric.
“She may be suita
ble for the Preacher, and he has offered a handsome price indeed.” Its head snapped from side to side, scanning its brethren. “Where is her weapon?”
The crystal sword was produced, moving from hand to hand until the leader took hold of it, raising it to its eyes.
“Interesting.”
It crouched down beside Emily, and she was at last able to draw breath. Her chest ached with the effort. She tried to pull her arms free of the Reavers pinning her down, but their grips were as implacable as stone. How could anyone—anything—be so strong?
“Your magic is powerful,” the leader said. It leaned over her, balancing perfectly on its arms and legs as if that was the more natural position for its anatomy. “This weapon is your channeler?”
She didn’t answer. Just seeing the sword clutched in the creature’s cloth-covered fist made her feel sick with fury.
“I see the answer in your eyes,” the leader rasped. “Human eyes betray so much.”
It straightened, still moving in a way that defied both biology and the laws of physics.
“Secure her with the others, and let us be on our way.”
Emily was yanked roughly to her feet and half dragged, half carried to her friends.
Celine was the only one conscious, stretched out between Corbb and Maddy. All three of them had had their hands and feet bound together, and then they’d been tied to one another like cords of wood. The girl’s face was a pale oval in the dark, streaked with blood that still ran from her nose and a gash beneath her wispy white hair. Rascal was nowhere to be seen.
“Good try,” Celine whispered, spitting out the blood that ran into her mouth. She grimaced, then gave Emily a weak smile. “Derek wasn’t kiddin’ when he said they’d take yeh to Daniel.”
Emily said nothing.
Her hands were forced behind her back, and she grimaced as they were bound. The cable was cool, almost damp to the touch, and despite its hard, translucent look, was as soft as a velvet rope. It clung to her skin wetly, like a snail’s slimy underbelly.
She was thrown back down beside Corbb, her skull cracking on the hard earth. Blood trickled out of her hair and down one cheek like an errant tear.
“I said not to damage her,” she heard the leader admonish her captors, and then she was being lashed to the others.
She thought about what she’d done. She wondered how it could have come out differently. Surely, they’d stood no chance against such numbers.
The bundle of humans was lifted by a group of Reavers, and they were carried away into the night. As they left the circle of light from the campfire, she caught sight of a trio of Reavers carrying a bound Galak away as well.
“Where’s Rascal?” she wondered, and it was only when Celine’s voice answered from Corbbmacc’s other side that she realized she’d spoken aloud.
“I told ’im to fly…and he flew. He didn’t want to, but he done it. He’ll come back.”
…He’ll come back…
…I’ll come back for you…
She’d promised Daniel, because he’d saved her—he’d saved them all.
Casey
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Casey scooped up the last bundle of cables from the ground and handed them to Lisa, straightening as she watched her friend toss the tangle of black snakes into the back of the van. There was a metallic thunk as the connectors clanged off of the rest of the gear. Brent slammed the rear doors shut as Lisa hopped down, brushing her sweaty—and currently very bushy—hair out of her eyes. The humidity wasn’t doing any of them any favors.
“All right then!” Lisa crowed, grabbing Casey’s arm and spinning her around to face the sand that began where the blacktop ended some fifty feet away. “Gig’s over. How ’bout some fun?”
Gavin came around the side of the van, shoving the keys into the pocket of his jeans.
“As long as fun includes food, fine,” he said, making Brent roll his eyes over a lit cigarette that seemed to have appeared in his hand out of nowhere.
“I just wanted to walk around for a bit,” Casey said, not looking at the others. Her eyes were fixed on the crowded beach and the gently rippling water beyond. “I’ve never been to the ocean before.”
“You just want to go see where Jeff’s gone,” Lisa said, grimacing. “Haven’t you two gotten sick of each other yet?”
Casey felt the heat rising to her cheeks, but she didn’t say anything. In truth, she wanted some time to herself before she faced Jeff. She needed to gather her thoughts and pull herself together before that happened.
“Oh, go on then. We’ll all meet back here in…what? A couple of hours? Then we can go get some real grub and celebrate another gig well done.” Lisa shoved Casey toward the sand. “And if you see Jeff, make sure you drag him back by the appointed time so we’re not stuck waiting around for his sorry ass.”
Casey smiled and nodded, trying hard not to feel the pang of guilt that was gnawing away at her insides. She’d have to tell them, too. They were all her friends now. At least Lisa and Gavin were. She wasn’t sure whether Brent was really friends with anyone. He hardly ever said two words at a time, and most of those were directed to Jeff.
She hurried across the parking lot, uncomfortably aware of the clip clop of the cheap rubber flip-flops she’d bought the day before in anticipation of today’s performance at the beach. The sun felt hot on her face, and the air was thick with humidity. She glanced enviously at the girls on the sand in bikinis and bathing suits, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to spend what little she had on such a thing—not with the other purchase she’d had to make, for which the flip-flops had mostly been a cover.
She walked along the sand, watching the children building sandcastles nearer the surf, the couples cuddled together beneath umbrellas, and the swimmers out amidst the blue-green waves. Salt stung her nose; seagulls screeched overhead. Despite the children shrieking, the skateboarders, the soaring Frisbees, and the general hubbub, it was a calming sort of place.
Her thoughts drifted to the bottle at the bottom of the purse Lisa had lent her. She was thirsty—painfully so—but she would not allow herself to drink. It was time to let that particular crutch go…but it was so damn hard. And soon—very soon—Emily’s voice would creep back into her head again. Then what would she do?
Time to worry about that whenever it happens, she thought dismally. For now, Emily had remained silent for whatever reason, and Casey was grateful.
She found a set of concrete steps that led up onto a wide pier lined with tiny shops and began climbing them. A little girl—no more than six or seven years old—skidded down the steps past her, chasing a large red rubber ball that had slipped from her grasp and bounced away.
“Sorry!” the girl screeched through her laughter as she sent Casey stumbling against the iron railing.
Casey turned to watch the girl, a pang of nostalgia so deep it was painful replacing the guilt. The girl caught her ball at last as it rolled down the sidewalk toward the soft white sand. Tears stung Casey’s eyes for a moment, but she blinked them away.
She turned and finished climbing the steps, making her way along the pier. The shops were packed with people surveying the cigar-box guitars, beaded wall hangings, old vinyl records, and specialty candies. Most of them were her age…couples in their teens and twenties, holding hands and sharing looks. She might’ve been one of them.
But she wasn’t one of them. She was a runaway drunk who had been lucky enough to have fallen in with a decent group of kids who loved rock music and vintage cartoons. They’d taken care of her when she’d needed it most. And what had she done for them in return? Nothing, really. How would she ever repay them for the friendship they’d shown her? How could she explain to them what it meant to be taken in and allowed to be someone different—someone else—for a little while.
But you’re not someone else, a voice whispered in her head. Was it Emily’s?
Again, the bottle seemed to be calling to her—and again, she refuse
d to succumb to the temptation, but it was getting harder. The vodka was like the sisters in that song they played, singing of sweet relief and oblivion like the sirens of the sea.
A woman jostled her, reaching out at once to steady Casey before she could knock the milkshake out of some boy’s hand.
“Sorry,” Casey muttered automatically, though the collision hadn’t been her fault.
The woman didn’t let go of her shoulder though, and Casey looked up to find a kindly-looking fortyish woman—possibly of Indian heritage—examining her quizzically.
“You okay?” she asked Casey. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“I’m fine,” Casey said, wondering why this stranger’s concern was making a lump form in her throat.
The woman went on staring at her for a moment, then, without another word, embraced Casey as if they were long-lost relatives.
“You’re not,” the woman whispered in her ear. “But it’ll be okay.” She held Casey for a moment longer, then let her go and moved on, leaving Casey alone, confused, and blinking back fresh tears.
The crowd thinned as she neared the end of the pier, and Casey stood against the railing, staring out over the gentle waves. The water was calmer than she’d expected it to be, but Jeff had said that was typical of the gulf coast.
“One of these days,” he had told her just a couple of days ago, “I’ll take you to see the Pacific Ocean in California. The water is twenty degrees colder, but the waves are much better for surfing.”
The very idea of surfing sounded terrifying. But did it matter? They weren’t going to California.
She watched as the sun sank lower, its bottom edge nearly touching the water. Some of the swimmers were already heading toward shore or making their way up the sand to rejoin boyfriends or girlfriends or siblings or parents…
The bottle was in her hand, but she had no memory of having taken it from her purse. The cap was off, too, and the medicinal smell of the alcohol burned in her nostrils. Her tongue felt parched and dry; she was so goddamned thirsty.
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